


"The Outsiders"

by Gaedhal



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2006-06-25
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-27 12:36:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 35,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12081189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaedhal/pseuds/Gaedhal
Summary: This sequel to "Medium Security" takes place in the summer of 1979, after Brian and Justin have both been released from the Stanton Correctional Institution. While "Medium Security," being a prison fic, was extremely angsty and occasionally portrayed violence, this is a very different story and details the ways Brian and Justin adjust to life outside prison. You don't have to have read "Medium Security" to get the gist of "The Outsiders."Please be aware that this is an unfinished story and that I have no time to complete it in the near future.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: This fic begins in July 1979 and takes place over that summer. Remember that the late 1970's were a very different world for gay men. Being out was not the norm, especially away from larger cities, and gay sex was still illegal in most places, especially in the South and Midwest. Also, this fic takes place pre-AIDS, so "safe sex" was unknown.  


* * *

July 1979  
  
  
When Brian walked into the Liberty Diner that awful music was blasting again.  
  
Disco music.  
  
Thumpa, thumpa, thumpa.  
  
It gave him a fucking headache!  
  
"Bad girls! Bad girls!" some woman was yowling at the top of her lungs from the jukebox. And the bass was turned up high. Very high.  
  
Brian liked loud music with a beat, but not when he was eating. And not when he had to sit and wait for Justin to finish his shift. A fucking captive audience.  
  
"Hey!" said Justin, giving him a quick kiss as he hustled by with an empty tray. "I saved the back booth for you. I should be done in about 15 minutes."  
  
Brian shrugged and slunk to the back of the diner, sliding into the booth. He was hungry, but he didn't particularly want to eat there with all that booming music. And the diner was starting to get crowded. The lunch rush was about to begin, which was when Justin's morning shift ended.  
  
"Don't I know you?" said a voice.  
  
That was the other reason Brian didn't care to hang out in the Liberty Diner. You couldn't even sit there for 10 seconds without some guy cruising you.  
  
"I don't think so," Brian said shortly. He glanced at the guy, but didn't look him in the eye. Guys took that as an open invitation.  
  
But the guy sat down anyway, plopping himself opposite Brian in the booth. "Sure you do. From Woody's. You and the blond kid were together. He works here." The guy gestured to Justin, who sped by with a full tray. Justin was wearing a tight pair of cut-off jeans and an even tighter light blue tee shirt and his hair was bleached almost white by the summer sun.  
  
"Maybe," Brian returned. He remembered this guy now. He was a bartender at Woody's. Brian and Justin rarely went in there or any other bar on Liberty, but when they did it was usually during the afternoon after Justin had ended his shift. It was quiet then and the guys weren't as aggressively prowling for sex.  
  
"I see him in here all the time, but I haven't seen you," said the guy. Like they were old friends. Brian could never figure that out. Total strangers acting like they knew you just because you were both queers. "My name's Jeff. What's yours again?"  
  
"I don't think I ever gave you my name," Brian said grudgingly. But it was a losing battle. Everyone on Liberty Avenue knew everyone else. That was the way it was. "But it's Brian."  
  
"Brian," said Jeff, as if tasting it. "And the kid is Justin. He's waited on me and my boyfriend, Greg. Cute kid." He turned and appraised Justin's ass in the cut-offs. "You two live together?"  
  
"Yeah," said Brian. "Not that it's any of your fucking business."  
  
But Jeff only grinned.  
  
He liked Brian's surly attitude. The man was very hot and that sullen stare was part of his appeal. The tough guy stance. Jeff knew Brian had been in prison. He'd pumped the kid for information a couple of times. He and Greg both agreed that they'd love to get the tall ex-con and his blond boyfriend back to their place and see what developed. They knew a lot of interesting games to play. Nothing too heavy for a couple of beginners. Maybe a little light B & D. Brian would look fucking amazing in a leather harness, Jeff thought. And the kid -- well, he could picture a lot of hot scenes involving the kid. But Brian was skittish. Very skittish.  
  
"I'm getting something to eat before I meet my boyfriend to go shopping," Jeff explained, picking up the menu. "You getting lunch? Mind if I join you?"  
  
"No," said Brian. "I'm not staying. Justin and I are going out to look for a car."  
  
"Oh, yeah?" said Jeff with interest. "What kind of car?"  
  
"Something used." Brian shifted around uncomfortably. He wished that Justin would get moving so they could get out of there. "Something I can afford."  
  
"You looking for any specific kind of car?" asked Jeff. "For work or for pleasure? Or a little bit of both?"  
  
"We're taking a trip," said Justin, suddenly standing next to the booth. "We're driving to Florida."  
  
"Florida, huh?" Jeff replied. "In the middle of the summer?"  
  
"This is the only time we can do it," said Justin. "I'm starting back to college in September, and Brian was working on his book up until last week, and my mom got married, and...."  
  
"And that's enough," said Brian, standing up. "You ready to go or do you want to give this guy your entire life story?"  
  
Justin laughed. "Everyone in the diner already knows my entire life story, Brian -- and yours! And so will everyone else when your book comes out!"  
  
"I knew that book was a fucking mistake." Brian took a deep breath. Justin loved to tell everyone he met everything about his life, but Brian couldn't get used to that. He couldn't get used to the way everyone on the outside seemed to tell you everything about themselves within five minutes of meeting you and expected you to do the same. But Justin was right -- once his book was published in the fall Brian's carefully guarded privacy would be a thing of the past.  
  
That's why this trip to Florida was so important to him. It was chance for the two of them to get away together, but especially for Brian to escape from all the pressure he'd been under in recent months. The aftermath of his trial and all of the publicity that went with it. Then the stress of working with his editor, Ed McCandless, to finish his book in time for it to be included on the Fall List. Then the circus of Ron and Jennifer's wedding. And always the stifling atmosphere of Liberty Avenue where everyone and his brother knew all of your fucking business. Brian had thought the Stanton Quad was like a hothouse, but it was nothing compared to the closed circle that was the Pittsburgh gay community. And the Liberty Diner was ground zero -- with Justin in the center of it.  
  
Brian had tried to get Justin to quit his job at the diner a number of times, but Justin flat out refused. He liked his co-workers, including Debbie Novotny, the mother of one of their pals in Stanton, and he liked the tips he made. And Justin also seemed to enjoy the attention he got from the men who hung out at the diner. Justin liked flirting with them even while he clearly let them know that flirting was as far as it would go. The diner regulars had all heard about the tall, handsome boyfriend who had been in prison for ten years -- and that Justin himself had been inside for almost a year. Those exotic facts gave Justin a certain mystique and upped his tips significantly. And having a great ass, which he enjoyed showing off in tight jeans and short shorts, didn't hurt either.  
  
"Your book is going to be a huge best seller!" Justin insisted. "When it's published Brian is going to do a signing at the Liberty Bookstore," he bragged to Jeff. "The owner is going to have a party for the publication."  
  
"Oh, yeah?" said Jeff, truly impressed. "You know, if you guys really need a car, I got a friend who's selling one. It's not new, but it's in fantastic shape. It's a '69 Thunderbird."  
  
"1969?" said Justin. "That's ten years old. We were thinking of a more recent model."  
  
But Brian's ears perked up. "A T-bird?" He remembered that as a hot car when he was in high school, something he never would have been able to afford back then. "What kind of condition is it in?"  
  
"Pretty good," said Jeff. "My friend who's selling it only drove it in good weather. He's a butch guy, but when it comes to that car he's a real queen! Fusses over it like a baby. The body is rust-free and the engine got an overhaul last year."  
  
"Then why's he selling?" Brian asked suspiciously. It sounded too good to be true.  
  
"He got a new job in New York City and it's hard to keep a car there," Jeff explained. "So he has to let it go. But he's the original owner. If you guys would like to go over and take a look at it, I can give him a call. What do you say?"  
  
Brian glanced at Justin, who nodded. It wouldn't hurt to take a look. They needed wheels to take them to Florida and back. Brian could picture himself in a Thunderbird. It was a car with some meat on its bones. Most of the 1970's models they had looked at so far seemed like little metal boxes to Brian. They looked ugly and insubstantial. Nothing like the big, free-wheeling cars from 1960's that Brian had coveted as a teenager. He'd be damned if he was going to drive a thousand miles in a fucking Pinto or a Gremlin!  
  
"Yeah," said Brian. "Give your friend a call. We'd like to take a look at his Thunderbird."  
  



	2. Chapter 1

  
Author's notes: A note on Jennifer: She is now married to Ron Rosenblum, the disbarred lawyer who was Brian's prison jock (his "straight" lover and protector), complicating things quite a bit.  


* * *

  
"Guess what Brian and I did last night?"  
  
Oh, dear, thought Jennifer. She always held her breath whenever her son Justin made a comment like that. She didn't like to think about the kinds of things that Justin did with his boyfriend, Brian. Because it was bound to be something she didn't want to know about. Something to do with their relationship. And with sex.  
  
But Jennifer swallowed hard. "What was that, honey?"  
  
Justin grinned at his mother. "We bought a car!"  
  
"Oh." Jennifer was surprised. "I thought you were going to go with Ronnie to look for a car?"  
  
Justin made a face. He tolerated his mother's new husband, but that didn't mean he had to like him.  
  
"Brian and I are perfectly capable of buying a car without Ron looking over our shoulders!"  
  
Jennifer sighed. "I know you are capable, Justin. I never suggested that you aren't." Justin could be so touchy. But not as touchy as Brian, thank God! "I only thought that Ron was going with you to make certain you boys got a good deal."  
  
"Oh, we got a great deal!" Justin crowed. "It's a 1969 Thunderbird and it's totally cool! The guy who was selling it, Phil, is a hairdresser and he got a new job in New York so he can't take the car. It's in really beautiful condition! He wanted a thousand bucks for it, but Brian sweet-talked him down to $750."  
  
"How did he do that?" asked Jennifer.  
  
Justin laughed. "He took a cue from me! He flirted with the guy. Only a little bit, but that's all it took! Phil was eating out of Brian's hand by the time he got finished with him. It was priceless!"  
  
"I see," said Jennifer. Flirting with the man who was selling the car. What a way to do business! And Justin thought it was great!  
  
It made Jennifer uneasy to know how completely comfortable Justin seemed to be with being gay, especially now that he was living with Brian in the middle of an area of town where a lot of gay men congregated. And he was working at the Liberty Diner, too. That was a notorious hang-out for the gays. Everyone in Pittsburgh knew that! Telling her friends where her son worked was like wearing a big sign: "My son is a queer!"  
  
Jennifer had been down to Liberty Avenue a few times to meet Justin and she'd been shocked at some of the things going on there. Why, she had seen an extremely effeminate man wearing eye make-up in broad daylight! Standing right outside the diner! And when she and Justin had walked by the person said, "Hi, Justin!" like the two of them were old friends!  
  
"I know everyone around here," Justin had explained. "Darren does a drag show at Woody's every Sunday night. He's a nice guy."  
  
Those were the kinds of friends Justin was cultivating. Drag queens! Ex-cons like Brian and the people Justin still wrote to in prison. That Emmett. Even Mrs. Novotny's son, Mikey, was one. It worried Jennifer to distraction. She had tried talking to Ronnie about it, but he always dismissed her fears.  
  
"The boys need to live their own lives, my dear," he'd lectured her. "Justin is never going to live in the suburbs and join the country club, so you had better get used to it. He's gay and he's got his own friends and his own way of doing things. And the sooner you reconcile yourself to that, the happier you'll be."  
  
She tried. She really did. But it was difficult. So very difficult!  
  
And now Justin and Brian were planning a trip down to Florida. That's why they wanted a car. They were going to drive all the way, just the two of them.  
  
That worried her, too.  
  
It was such a long way down to Florida. A long, long drive. Anything could happen on such a trip!  
  
Brian hadn't been out of prison all that long and Jennifer worried that he was having a hard time adjusting to life on the outside. Sometimes Brian was moody and even angry. He'd had a number of loud confrontations with Ronnie and Jennifer was afraid that Brian might become violent one day. What if he lashed out at Justin? What if he hurt her son?  
  
Again, Ron refused to take her concerns seriously.  
  
"Brian is the least violent person I know, Jen," he told her. "I'm more likely to take a fist to someone than Brian. Good God -- Justin is more likely to get physical than Brian! That's not the way Brian deals with things. He internalizes everything. He's more likely to hurt himself than to hurt someone else. And he'd never hurt Justin. Ever. Believe me."  
  
But her new husband's words still hadn't put her mind at ease.  
  
Jennifer turned the car into the driveway of the new house. "Here we are!" Jennifer rang out. "Can you carry in that box in the backseat, honey?"  
  
"Sure, Mom," said Justin as he got out of the car. "Where does this stuff go?"  
  
"The kitchen," she replied. "It's a new set of everyday china."  
  
Slowly but surely they were getting everything in order for the big move. Jennifer could hardly wait! That cramped apartment wasn't nearly big enough for her and Ron and Molly. Ron knew that and had bought her the house as a wedding present. It was just like him! Ronnie was so thoughtful! As soon as she finished redecorating the three of them would be ready to move in.  
  
"I'm getting your things out of storage, Justin," said Jennifer. "But I'd like you look at pictures of the new furniture I'm buying for your room. That old furniture was a mess, so I thought a new bedroom set, a desk, and new shelves would be just the thing."  
  
Justin shook his head. "It doesn't matter, Mom. I'm not going to be living in your new house so I don't know why you're going to all that trouble. If you want to buy new furniture and put my old books on the shelves, that's fine. But I'm not going to move in with you and Molly -- and Ron!"  
  
Jennifer smiled tightly at her son. "I'd never have a home and not include you, sweetheart. You're my son! I want you to feel at home in my new house."  
  
Justin carried the box of dishes up to the front door and Jennifer opened it. He followed her into the kitchen. Yes, thought Justin, it's a nice house. But I'm not living here. Especially not with Ron in it!  
  
Justin set the box of china on the counter. "There," he said. "Listen, Mom -- I know you mean well, but I'll never be at home in this house. The only place I'm at home is in our own apartment. Brian's and mine. Or wherever Brian is. Wherever that might be. That's where I live and that's my home. For always. Maybe you don't want to hear that, but it's the truth. So why can't you be happy for me? Just a little?"  
  
Jennifer felt like she was going to cry. "I AM happy for you, darling," she lied. "Very, very happy."  
  
Justin smiled and that filled up Jennifer's heart. He was so beautiful! And she desperately wanted him to be happy! He deserved to be happy after all he had been through!  
  
"Good, Mom," Justin replied. "Because I intend to be happy from now on. Happy with Brian."  



	3. Chapter 3

  
July 1979  
  
  
"What the fuck do you mean you've already bought a car?"  
  
Ron stared up at Brian, who had barged into Ron's office at the Prisoners' Legal Defense without even announcing himself to Doris at the front desk.  
  
"I bought it last night," Brian replied with a defiant edge to his voice. "Justin and I went over to the guy's house and took it for a test drive. It's a 1969 Ford Thunderbird." He slapped some paperwork on Ron's desk. "Title. Registration. Receipt for $750. I'll need to get insurance for the thing before I can drive it anywhere. But I want all the legal stuff to be straightened out before Justin and I leave for Florida."  
  
Ron rubbed his tired eyes. This had been a bitch of a week and it wasn't getting any better. Ron was trying to be his usual calm and reasonable self, but it was difficult. Brian had been making him fucking crazy lately!  
  
"Brian, I thought you were going to wait and go with me to look for a car? I have information about a number of good prospects right here on my desk -- if I can find them." Ron pushed some papers around, looking for a list he'd made. "Here's a deal on a Ford Maverick that's only three years old. And another one on an AMC Hornet. Or you can buy a brand new Pinto for the price of one of those older used cars. These are cars that my mechanic has already checked out and okayed. We can go over this evening and look at them. They're all good deals."  
  
Brian shrugged. "I don't care what your mechanic says, Ron. I don't want to drive a Pinto or a Hornet or some fucking tin box! This T-bird is a nice car and I want it."  
  
Ron stood up and walked around the desk. "Brian, you say this car is ten years old? And you paid $750 for it? That's ridiculous! I wouldn't pay $75 for a ten-year-old car!"  
  
"Not any ten-year-old car. A Thunderbird, Ron," Brian said firmly. "It's in good shape. I drove it around the block. Justin rode with me and he likes the car, too. If you want your mechanic to take a look at it, then be my guest. But it's my car and I'm keeping it."  
  
Ron put his arm around Brian's shoulders. "Listen, Baby, I explained this to you before. If you and Justin insist on taking this drive down to Florida, then you need a safe vehicle. I promised Jennifer that Justin wouldn't be heading off on the highway in some beat-up rattle-trap! Why not take a look at some of those new Japanese cars? They're well-made and get good gas mileage. That's important with this Energy Crisis and the price of gas inching up every day. Why, by the end of the summer it might be almost a dollar a gallon!"  
  
Brian pulled away and carefully removed Ron's arm from around his neck. He didn't like it when Ron got too chummy. And he didn't like Ron calling him 'Baby.' It didn't seem to matter to Ron that Brian had been hooked up with Justin for a year and a half and that Ron himself was now re-married -- and to Justin's mother!  
  
Brian had discovered that the best way to deal with Ron was to be as emotionless as possible. Businesslike. Dispassionate. Which was difficult to do with a man you had lived, worked, and slept with for eight years.  
  
He and Ron had had a number of explosive arguments in the days leading up to Ron and Jennifer's wedding. Fighting about Brian's participation as Ron's Best Man. Fighting about Brian's book. Fighting about money. Just fighting about anything. Justin gleefully referred to these shrill altercations as "screaming queen cat fights."  
  
"That's inaccurate," Brian had countered to his lover. "I'm not a queen and neither is Ron. Therefore we can't possibly have a cat fight."  
  
But Justin laughed loudly. "For a couple of non-queens you guys sure do a good impression of two Quad queens having a Movie Night brawl over a feather boa!"  
  
After that Brian tried to keep things between Ron and himself on a more even keel. Even when he wanted to yell at Ron or punch his lights out, Brian thought about Justin's remarks and pulled himself back. Flattened his emotions. Closed his eyes. Counted to ten. Whatever the fuck it took.  
  
"So when can you get me the insurance?" Brian asked between chews.  
  
Ron sniffed. Brian was chewing on a stick of Juicy Fruit. Ron hated that. He knew that Brian was trying to stop smoking, but chomping on gum constantly was even more annoying than smoke.  
  
But Ron also understood when things were beyond his control. When Brian was beyond his control. And this road trip was simply another step that Brian was inexorably taking away from Ron and completely out of his influence.  
  
"Baby... I mean Brian -- listen to me," Ron said smoothly. "I only want you and the kid to be safe. I hate to think of you on the road in an old, broken-down car. What it something happens and you two are out in the middle of nowhere? A newer car is less likely to give you problems."  
  
"I guess," Brian sighed, running his fingers through his thick hair. It was getting long. Maybe a little too long. He'd need to get a trim before they left. "But this is the car I want, Ron. You said that my money was MINE. I balked a little at paying $750 for the car, but not because I didn't think it was worth it. I've barely spent even a hundred dollars on anything for myself in my entire life, let alone hundreds. But this is something important to me. It's more than just a car. It's freedom. Can you understand that?"  
  
Ron bit his lip thoughtfully. He did understand what Brian meant. How vital it was for Brian to make his own decisions and feel that he was no longer a prisoner. No longer locked up physically, but also mentally.  
  
"Yes, I can, Brian," Ron said. "I'll call my mechanic and ask him to give the Thunderbird a complete examination. And I'll have Doris call my insurance agent, too. We'll get everything set for you."  
  
Ron paused for a moment, staring at Brian. He looked even more beautiful than he had when he was 21. Then Brian had been a skinny, awkward kid. Unformed. In awe of Ron in every way. But now he was a man. Tall. Strong. And strong-willed, too. The way Ron had raised him to be. It was ironic that Ron's own teachings had come around to bite him so thoroughly on the ass.  
  
"Thanks," Brian said slowly. He was still slightly suspicious of Ron's motivations. But he wasn't blocking their trip to Florida. That was a good thing. Ron had enough on his plate with a new marriage, taking over the PLD, and also coordinating the legal issues surrounding Brian's book.  
  
That had been one of the things that surprised Brian in connection with his book. Things that had nothing to do with the actual writing and editing process. All the forms to be filled out. Releases to be obtained. Names of characters that had to changed. Even characters who had to be disguised in certain ways. The publishers were very aware that Brian's manuscript contained many explosive elements and they didn't want to deal with lawsuits on top of all the other controversial issues the book contained. But they -- along with Ron and everyone else involved in the publication -- thought that 'The Quad: A Prisoner's Story' would be a best seller, so it was well worth all the trouble.  
  
"I have to be going," said Brian. He felt uncomfortable when he was alone with Ron too long. It brought back too many memories. Distressing memories, but also too many happy memories. Those were almost harder to think about than the sad ones. Because things had changed so much between them. They had become two very different people going in two very different directions. "Justin and I have a lot of things to do before we leave town."  
  
"Of course," said Ron, escorting Brian to the door of his office. "I'll call you about the insurance. And the mechanic." Ron hesitated, but then he kissed Brian gently on the cheek. "Take care, Baby."  
  
Brian nodded. "You too, Ron."  
  
And then he was gone.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

July 1979  
  
  
"Justin! Hello!" said Mel, opening the front door. "And Brian -- welcome!"  
  
"Hi, Miss Marcus," said Justin as the boys walked into the house and followed their hostess into the living room. "I was telling Brian what a nice house you two have."  
  
"Why thank you, Justin," said Mel, smiling. She was very proud of the home she and Lindsay had made together. But after being in a relationship for six years they were looking for something more. A real family. And now -- Mel hoped -- it might be possible.  
  
She had only met Brian Kinney once before when they had all gotten together for dinner at the diner only a week before. Mel had been impressed with the man then, but after reading some excerpts from his forthcoming book that Justin had provided she was even more fascinated by this former political prisoner.  
  
Melanie Marcus was a committed feminist and lesbian. She ordinarily had as little to do with men as was possible in this sexist, patriarchal, and homophobic society. Yes, she worked with men in her capacity as a lawyer, but in her home life and social life it was an all-female world. A world of strong 'wimmin' who did not need men to feel complete.  
  
However, there was one thing that still could not be done without a man -- at least at the initial stage of the process.  
  
Justin and Brian sat down on the sofa and Mel offered them some herbal tea and cookies that Lindsay had baked.  
  
"Lindz is upstairs with our friend Margery Riggs," Mel said. "Marge is an RN and an expert on this particular procedure."  
  
Brian coughed nervously. He didn't really want to hear about any of the technical stuff. The thought of it made him more than a little queasy. "That's good. I'm glad someone around here is an expert at this."  
  
"Oh, yes," Mel agreed. "Lindsay is in very competent hands."  
  
"That's great," said Justin, taking a peanut butter cookie and shoving it into his mouth. "These cookies are really good."  
  
Mel smiled. "Lindsay makes everything from scratch. She's a wonderful cook."  
  
"And a wonderful teacher, too," Justin added. He had loved taking Lindsay's Art History course and gotten an easy A in it.  
  
It must have been Fate that had placed Justin on the afternoon shift at the Liberty Diner only two weeks before. That's when his former teacher and her girlfriend walked in and sat in the back booth. Lindsay was weeping and Mel was trying to comfort her. Justin immediately came to the table with a pot of tea, two lemon bars, and a sympathetic ear.  
  
The two women told him then that the sperm bank they had been planning to use to add a child to their family had found out that Lindsay and Mel were lesbian partners and rejected them. Which meant that they would have to start back at square one and look either for another more broad-minded sperm bank or for an independent donor.  
  
"Where do you find a smart, good-looking man who is also politically aware enough to help a couple of dykes who want a baby?" Mel had griped to Justin while Lindsay dabbed at her red-rimmed eyes.  
  
"Sounds like you're talking about my boyfriend Brian," Justin had returned. "He's amazingly beautiful, intelligent, and he's a very politically aware gay man."  
  
Lindsay had stopped sniffing and looked up at the boy. "Brian Kinney," she mused. Justin had already told her the story of how the two men had met in prison. The original Kinney trial had been infamous when Lindsay was in college. And Brian's re-trial and release had been a huge story only a few months ago. "Tell us a little more about his family background. And his health. And anything else you can think of, Justin."  
  
"I'll go up and let Lindz and Marge know you're here," said Mel. "And all ready to go, I assume?"  
  
"Yup," Brian nodded. "All ready to go."  
  
"You bet!" Justin chimed in.  
  
Mel went upstairs and Brian exhaled loudly. "I hope this is the right thing to do, kid. Because if it isn't...." Brian pulled out a stick of gum, popped it into his mouth, and began chewing compulsively. He was dying for a fucking cigarette!  
  
"It is the right thing, Brian," Justin confirmed. "You're doing a favor for a couple of very nice ladies -- I mean, wimmin. And you're also contributing to the cause of Gay Liberation."  
  
"Gay Liberation?" Brian smiled at his lover's enthusiasm. This whole thing had been Justin's idea and he couldn't have been more excited if it was his own sperm that was going to be squirted up this strange lesbian's twat. "How do you figure that?"  
  
Justin leaned against him. "Because straights always say that gay people can't have families. That their relationships aren't real. Doing this will help to negate that stereotype, Brian. And you're always saying that every homosexual has to live his or her everyday life like it's a political statement."  
  
"Oh?" Brian raised an eyebrow. "Is that what I'm always saying?"  
  
"You know what I mean!" Justin punched Brian's arm gently. "It's solidarity with our lesbian sisters!"  
  
"I thought it was a teacup full of spunk!" Brian retorted. "Or a couple of cups, since I have to come back here tomorrow and do this again. Probably even the day after that, too."  
  
"I know," said Justin. "That's so they're sure it will take. Lindsay told me they want to make certain."  
  
"I only want to get this over with before we leave town," Brian added. "Unless I can mail them some more of my special juice from Florida?"  
  
Justin grinned. "I don't think so, Brian. I don't think that's the kind of juice Florida is famous for!"  
  
"Thank you, Anita Bryant!" Brian cracked.  
  
A tall, grey-haired woman came down the stairs and into the living room. "You must be Brian," she said, extending her hand. This had to be Margery Riggs, the nurse.  
  
The pair stood up. "Yes, ma'am," said Brian, shaking her hand. "Did you get my medical reports? I had the doc send them directly to Miss Marcus' office."  
  
"Yes," she replied. "I looked them over and everything looks fine. You're in excellent health, Brian."  
  
"That's a relief to know," Brian said to Justin.  
  
"Lindsay and Mel are upstairs in the main bedroom," Marge explained. "You can go into the smaller bedroom. I've put a plastic cup in there for you. Please try to get as much as possible directly into the cup. Every little bit counts."  
  
Brian winced. "I'll try to aim as well as I can."  
  
"And I'll help him," Justin volunteered.  
  
"I assumed that you would, dear," said Marge.  
  
Marge was a bit dubious about selecting someone the mothers didn't know very well, but this tall and undoubtedly handsome man was the one Lindsay and Melanie had decided would be the father of their baby, so who was she to judge? "If you boys would follow me? Please?"  
  
Brian and Justin went up the steep stairs in Marge's no-nonsense wake. She ushered them into a small room with a single bed and a bed table with a plastic cup sitting on it.  
  
"I'll leave you to it, boys," Marge said. "Knock when you're finished." And she went out, shutting the door behind her.  
  
"You think they're really going to use a turkey baster?" Brian questioned as he unzipped the fly of his worn jeans.  
  
"I don't know, Brian," said Justin. "I didn't want to ask."  
  
Brian took out his dick and stroked it slowly. What if he couldn't get it up? What if he was too nervous?  
  
But Justin took matters into his own hands. And then into his warm mouth. Brian sighed and was standing firm in a few moments. And very soon the plastic cup was no longer empty.  
  
"You won't be sorry about this, Brian," Justin reassured him as they walked out of the house and got into the Thunderbird. "Maybe Lindsay will have a boy! You'll have a son!"  
  
"Christ," Brian gulped. "A son."  
  
He suddenly had a sinking feeling. But it was too late to go back now. The deed was done. His sperm was like the Starship Enterprise, going where no man had gone before! And it wasn't going to come back.  
  
Brian gunned the T-bird's engine and the car jackrabbited down the road. It was almost time for them to get the fuck out of Dodge. Time for both of them to get their heads together. Just the two of them. On the Road.  
  
He couldn't wait.  



	5. Chapter 5

  
July 1979  
  
  
"Lindsay and Mel have been together for six years," Justin stated. "That's a long time."  
  
He checked the clock-radio to make certain the alarm was set. He had to be at the diner at 6:00 a.m. for the breakfast shift and he didn't want to be late because it was his final day.  
  
"It depends on what your idea of a long time is," said Brian. He thought about his own ten years in prison and his eight years as Ron's punk.  
  
"I mean it's long to be in a relationship," said Justin. "Is that why they want a baby? Because they've been together so long?"  
  
Brian shrugged. "I think they want a baby because they're women and women want babies. At least that's what I've always been told they want. Because believe me, I'm no fucking expert on females!"  
  
"But Mel is such a radical feminist," said Justin. He pulled off his shorts and climbed into bed next to Brian. "You wouldn't think she'd want a baby."  
  
"Maybe it's Lindsay who's hot to have a kid," Brian suggested. "And her girlfriend is only going along with it to shut her up?"  
  
"Maybe," said Justin. "Seems weird to think that next spring you might be a father."  
  
Brian shook his head. "I'm not a father, kid. I'm a sperm donor. All those women wanted was a cup of my jizz and nothing more. The last thing they want is some man hanging around and playing 'Da Da' with their kid."  
  
"But what if it's a boy?" Justin asked. "He'll want to know who his father is. He might want to do things with you. I would if it were me."  
  
"That's you, Justin." Brian didn't care for this conversation. It brought back too many dark memories from his own childhood, a time he'd rather forget entirely. "But for me -- I would've been a lot happier if my old man had taken a powder before I was born and never showed up again."  
  
Justin hated to hear Brian say that. Even if his own father, Craig, was being an asshole lately, Justin's childhood had been a happy one, privileged and secure. He had never wanted for any material goods and he'd enjoyed the trappings of a classic WASP upbringing -- a big house in a good neighborhood, private schools, country clubs. And Justin had never doubted that his parents loved him. Never had a care in the world. At least until he began to feel a stirring in his dick whenever he looked at other boys.  
  
"Let's hope the baby is a girl," Brian said. "Then I won't be expected to do anything. The dykes will have their budding little feminist and the big bad sperm donor can remain anonymous."  
  
"But Brian...," Justin tried to continue.  
  
"No buts." Brian cut him off by reaching over and snapping off the lamp next to the bed. "I thought you had to get up early tomorrow? Your big day at the diner."  
  
"My last day at the diner," said Justin. "I'll miss working there. And I'll miss the great tips."  
  
"I'm hoping that once the book comes out I'll actually make some money from it," said Brian. "Then you won't need those tips. You can concentrate on college and your artwork."  
  
"The book is going to be a best seller," Justin asserted. "Amy Carver says so. Ron says so. Everybody says so!"  
  
"We'll see." Brian closed his eyes and wondered about the future.  
  
'The Quad' covered Brian's involvement with Glenn and the Penn State Bombers, his trial, and his first months in prison, ending with Ron taking him out of the low-riders' tip and making him his 'associate' in the PLD. The publisher, Lewis-Fisher and Company, was already talking about a sequel that would cover the rest of Brian's term at Stanton Correctional. Brian had a lot of material about those subsequent years, mainly dealing with his work with the Prisoners' Legal Defense. However, there was also a lot he had not written about. The extent of his relationship with Ron. Being taken hostage by Turner and his Bros during 'The Happening,' as well as the deep depression that had followed. Justin's entrance into Stanton and his rape. Brian's confrontation with the low-riders and his stabbing. And, finally, Justin's release, followed by Brian's own release and re-trial.  
  
These were all things that Brian would have to deal with in a sequel. Have to think about. Write about in detail. Brian wasn't sure he could do it. But he might well have to do it, especially if 'The Quad' was as successful as everyone expected it to be. He wasn't looking forward to dredging up all of those memories.  
  
"It's pretty warm in here," Justin commented. They had an old air conditioner in the bedroom window that rumbled and gurgled and even blew a little cool air into the room, but not much. Justin ran his hand down Brian's long body and took hold of his cock. "Definitely getting much warmer in here!"  
  
Brian put his hand over Justin's. "I'm supposed to be conserving my sperm, remember? So I can fill that cup again tomorrow."  
  
"I don't think you'll have any trouble filling that cup," Justin reasoned. "But if you do have any problem, then I can add a little something in there to top it up. Lindsay and Mel will never know the difference."  
  
"Ah," said Brian. "You have an answer for everything, don't you, kid?"  
  
"I try to," Justin replied smugly.  
  
"They should have asked you to be the donor in the first place," Brian declared.  
  
"I offered," Justin admitted. "But Lindsay and Mel thought I was too young. Besides, you and Lindsay should make a great-looking kid. Lindsay is tall and pretty -- and you're amazing, Brian! Any kid you make would be amazing, too!"  
  
"Flattery will get you everywhere, Sunshine," Brian laughed.  
  
Justin was now working Brian's dick vigorously with his hand. "Get the lube," Justin whispered.  
  
"We should buy this stuff by the case," said Brian, retrieving the tube from the drawer. "We better take enough with us on the trip. Who knows where we'll be able to buy lube on the back roads of the rural South?"  
  
"Then we'll have to use Crisco," said Justin, slicking up Brian's hard cock. "Or cream rinse. Just like we did back in the Quad. We'll use our imaginations."  
  
"And I have plenty of imagination." Brian flipped Justin over onto his back.  
  
Brian liked doing it face-to-face. Liked to have Justin's mouth available to kiss and probe with his tongue. Liked to hear Justin's sharp intact of breath as Brian's dick entered him. Liked to listen to Justin's little murmurs and squeaks as they both approached orgasm.  
  
"Fuck, Brian!" Justin gasped. "Oh, fuck!"  
  
"Oh, God!" Brian breathed, coming hard, his dick buried deep in Justin's plentiful ass.  
  
"That was great," Justin sighed as Brian pulled himself out. "I think I got better than a cupful with that one."  
  
"Yes, but you won't have to deal with the consequences nine months from now," Brian added.  
  
But Justin was quiet while Brian wiped them both off with a handful of tissues.  
  
"Brian? Do you think we'll still be together in six years?" Justin asked finally.  
  
Brian frowned. "I don't know." Brian paused. He hated thinking about things like that. About the day that Justin might outgrow him and move on. Brian was well aware that nothing lasted forever, sometimes not even love.  
  
"Do you want to be with me six years from now, Brian?" Justin asked tentatively. "I mean -- do you think you'll still love me?"  
  
"Of course," Brian said simply. "But it's not me who'll be the one to decide that, kid. It'll be you. You're the one with your whole life ahead of you. You're only 20 years old, after all. When you're 26 you might be a completely different person."  
  
But Justin shook his head. "I doubt that, Brian. I'll still be Justin Taylor. I'll still be gay. And you'll still be you." He sighed and moved closer to his lover. "I can't see changing my feelings. I'll still need you -- and you'll still need me to take care of you." Justin closed his eyes in contentment. "We'll still love each other in 1985. Nothing can change that. Nothing."  
  
Brian touched Justin's golden hair with his lips. "I hope you're right, Justin," he whispered. "I hope you're right."  



	6. Chapter 6

July 1979  
  
  
Towards the end of his final shift at the diner, Justin suddenly became very tired.  
  
It had been a bitch of a morning, really, really busy, and Justin had found himself in the weeds more than once. Finally he managed to slip out the back door for a few minutes to get his bearings, leaning up against the dumpster and taking deep, gulping breaths.  
  
Justin tried to put on a brave face, but sometimes things began to overwhelm him and there was nothing he could do about it. He'd talked to his therapist about it, who told him it was a normal reaction after all he had been through in the past two years. He'd suffered a lot of trauma, both physical and mental, and that was bound to affect him. It was normal. Natural. Something that they would work through -- eventually.  
  
But Justin didn't like to let anyone see his vulnerability, even if only for a moment. That lesson learned in the Quad was still firmly in place. Never let them see you cry. Never let anyone know how weak you are. Or how close to the surface your emotions are.  
  
No, not even Brian.  
  
Justin had to show Brian how strong he was. That he was no longer a punk, but a man. That Brian didn't need to worry about him every minute of the day. Didn't need to protect him.  
  
It didn't matter that Justin was also overly protective of Brian. Justin felt that he needed to be the strong one now. He was Brian's buffer against the outside world. The one Brian could depend on. So he couldn't afford to let Brian know how truly scared he was much of the time.  
  
"There you are, Sunshine!" said Debbie, coming out into the alley. "Whatcha doing? Having a smoke?"  
  
"I don't smoke, Deb," said Justin. "You know that." He glanced at his watch. "My shift is almost over and I'm just taking a breather. Brian is going to pick me up in about 20 minutes. We have a long of list things we have to do before we leave for Florida."  
  
Debbie grinned. "I know you do, honey. But in the meantime get your pretty butt in here and finish taking orders! I'm up to my own ass in customers and I need some help!"  
  
Justin sighed. "Sorry, Deb. I didn't mean to leave you hanging."  
  
Justin followed Deb back into the diner, through the kitchen, and out onto the floor. The first person he saw was his mother, standing there smiling at him.  
  
"Mom? What are you doing here?" Justin was confused.  
  
Jennifer laughed. "Surprise!" she shouted -- and everyone in the booths and at the counter jumped up, clapping. Most of Justin's regular customers were there and the staff that was supposed to be off-duty, too. Someone brought out a banner that read, 'Good Luck, Justin!' And there were lots of balloons -- and Debbie with a large cake.  
  
"What's going on?" said Justin, dumbfounded.  
  
"It's your Going Away Party, honey!" said Jennifer, hugging him tightly.  
  
"Yeah, and also to celebrate your last day working in this dump!" Debbie added. "Congratulations, Sunshine!"  
  
"I... I can't believe it," Justin mumbled. "You guys really faked me out. I wondered why it was so crowded in here today."  
  
"Come on, let's cut the cake and get this show on the road," said Debbie. "We were waiting for your goofy boyfriend to show up, but, as usual, he's late."  
  
"Brian took the car to Ron's mechanic to get it checked out for the trip, so that's probably why he was held up," Justin explained.  
  
"Well, if he doesn't get any cake it's his own problem," said Debbie, making the cut. "First piece goes to our guest of honor!" And everyone in the diner cheered.  
  
"I can't believe you and Deb did this," said Justin a little while later. He'd had two pieces of cake already, plus some of Deb's homemade pizza.  
  
"It was Debbie's idea," Jennifer admitted. "Everyone loves you here and she wanted you to know it." Jen picked at her piece of cake, which had a pink frosting flower on it. "Ronnie wanted to be here, but he has another appointment. Would you like to open your presents now?"  
  
"Presents?" Justin blinked. "You got me presents?"  
  
"Just a few odds and ends," said Debbie, butting in. "Over here!" she called and Juanita, one of the waitresses, and Ed, who worked the grill, brought out some wrapped packages.  
  
Most of the gifts were small things to use on a trip -- maps, a travel alarm-clock, travel-sized samples of shaving cream, deodorant, and packets of Kleenex. And from Debbie -- five tubes of premium lube.  
  
"So you don't run out before you get back to civilization!" she crowed.  
  
"Thanks, Deb," said Justin. He noticed that Jennifer turned bright red when he unwrapped the lube -- while everyone else laughed loudly. "I appreciate it. And so will Brian!"  
  
"And finally," said Jennifer, pushing a large wrapped item from behind the counter.  
  
Justin tore off the blue paper. It was a large leather suitcase. "This is beautiful, Mom! I was going to take my old duffle bag, but this is so much nicer!"  
  
"It was Ron's idea, darling," said Jennifer. "There's a matching case for Brian, too. See? This one has your initials on it."  
  
"That's the nuts, Jen," Debbie nodded. "So classy."  
  
"Gee, Mom," said Justin, fighting back tears. "I don't know what to say."  
  
"I know I've been a neighsayer about your trip, Justin," Jennifer replied, putting her arms around him. "But I want you have a good time. I really do."  
  
"Thanks, Mom." Justin clung tightly to his mother. It had been a long time since he had felt like a little boy, but he felt like one now. And like it really was the last time. The end of his childhood. Like his mother was finally letting him go.  
  
"All I ask is that you -- and Brian -- be careful," she whispered. "I don't want anything to happen to you. Every time you're out of my sight I'm s... so afraid." Jennifer's voice broke. "But Ronnie says that I can't be clingy. That you're not a little boy anymore. You're a man."  
  
"I'm trying to be," said Justin, turning his face away to wipe at his eyes. "Sometimes it's hard. Really hard."  
  
"Well!" cried Debbie from across the room. "It's about time! You almost missed the cake!"  
  
"Sorry, Deb. I couldn't help it."  
  
Justin looked up when he heard the voice.  
  
"Brian! Look at all the stuff we got!"  
  
Brian was standing in the doorway of the diner. He looked so fucking amazing in a pair of old Levis that hung loosely on his hips and a white tank top that stretched tightly across his muscular chest. The hot July sun was streaming in through the open door, framing him in blinding light.  
  
Then Ron walked in right behind him. He leaned over to Brian and whispered something in his ear -- and Brian smiled.  
  



	7. Chapter 7

July 1979  
  
  
"Excuse me for a minute," Justin said to his mother.  
  
"Certainly, honey," said Jennifer, patting her son on the shoulder.  
  
But instead of heading over to talk to Brian, Justin slipped into the kitchen and out the back door. He leaned against the dumpster in the alley and began taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself. His therapist had given him some breathing exercises to do whenever he felt a panic attack coming on. Close your eyes. Count to ten slowly while you breathe. In and out. Slowly.  
  
The back door opened, the old hinges creaking.  
  
Justin opened his eyes.  
  
"Why are you hiding out here?" asked Ron. "Brian is looking for you."  
  
Justin felt a shudder go through him.  
  
"It isn't nice to leave your guests waiting," Ron continued. "Aren't you going to help your mother carry all your gifts to the car?"  
  
"Don't tell me what to do, Ron," Justin hissed. "You aren't my fucking father!"  
  
"No," Ron snapped back. "But I'm your stepfather, so I'd appreciate it if you spoke a little more respectfully to me."  
  
"Fuck you!" Justin turned away and gripped the corner of the dumpster. Count to ten. Breathe. Count to ten. Breathe.  
  
"What the hell is your problem with me?" asked Ron. He was standing right next to Justin. Justin could feel his hot breath on the back of his neck. "You'd think I hadn't spent the better part of a year trying to get your fat little ass out of prison. Or helped you with the deposit and rent for your apartment." Ron paused. "Or gotten Brian out of the joint, too. For that alone I would think you'd be eternally grateful. But I see that with Mr. Justin Taylor no good deed goes unpunished."  
  
"Yeah," said Justin. "You really did that for me? You got Brian out of Stanton all for me? For yourself, you mean!"  
  
"No," Ron said coolly. "I got Brian out of the Quad for Brian. For justice. Because it was the right thing to do. So you are correct. It had nothing to do with you. Or with me."  
  
"Bullshit!" Justin spat. "It was for you, Ron! Did you really think Brian would go running into your arms the minute he was outside? Because he didn't! And he isn't going to -- ever! So stay away from him! Keep your hands off my lover! I fucking mean it!"  
  
Ron stared at Justin with his icy blue eyes. "You're so jealous of me you can taste it. Am I right, little boy?"  
  
"Don't call me 'little boy'!" said Justin, his voice shaking. "I'm not a little boy! I'm a man! Never forget that!"  
  
"You're not a man," Ron scoffed. "You're a punk and you'll always be a punk. That's what you were born to be and that's what you are. It doesn't matter whether you're inside or outside, Justin. You think like a punk. You take it up the ass like a punk. So get used to it."  
  
"Fuck you, Ron," Justin whispered again. "I'm no punk! And I'm not jealous of you. How could I be jealous of you? You're fucking pathetic! You're the jealous one because I have Brian -- and you don't!"  
  
"Oh, you're jealous all right," said Ron. He took out a pack of Marlboros and lit one, breathing in the smoke and then blowing it out through his nose. "Because I had Baby for eight years. Had him all to myself in a way you'll never have."  
  
"Don't call Brian 'Baby'!" Justin bristled. "He fucking hates that!"  
  
Ron shrugged. "Suit yourself. I bow to your superior knowledge of Mr. Kinney. Brian, then. But it doesn't matter what I call him. The truth is that I know Brian in ways you'll never know him. I know things about him that he would never share with another human being -- not even YOU, little boy. I shared things with him that you can never imagine. That no one could ever imagine." Ron leaned closer to Justin until the smoke from his cigarette stung Justin's eyes. "And you can't stand that, can you? Can't stand the fact that you'll always be shut out of all those years Brian and I were together. Me and Baby. And you can't stand the fact that I'm still here. That I'll always be here. Always."  
  
Justin squeezed his eyes shut. "Fuck you," he repeated. Breathe. Try to breathe. "Fuck you."  
  
Ron laughed. "Curse away, little boy. Stamp your little foot and get all pissy. That's what a punk does, after all."  
  
Justin opened his eyes and glared at Ron, blues eyes to blue eyes. "What did you whisper to Brian when you came into the diner?" he demanded. "Tell me what you said to him!"  
  
"Why should I tell you?" Ron smiled. "You can ask Brian if you want to. But you'll never really know if what he tells you is the truth, will you? Because Brian and I have secrets you'll never be able to penetrate. And we always will."  
  
"Stay away from Brian!" said Justin. "Or you'll be sorry! So fucking sorry!"  
  
"I'll be sorry? What are you going to do to me, Justin? Punch me out?" Ron asked. "Be fair -- haven't I given you your space with Brian? Haven't I given you time with him? And this trip, too. I was the one who convinced your mother -- my lovely wife -- that it was a good thing. And it is a good thing. For Brian. He's my main concern. It will give him a real taste of freedom. And also help him build up some confidence. Brian will need it when his book comes out. He'll need some self-confidence then. And he'll also need to me. To help him. And to protect him."  
  
"I can help Brian!" Justin shot back. "I can protect Brian! He doesn't need you!"  
  
Ron watched Justin for a moment. He took another drag on his cigarette. It tasted bitter. Brian was right to try to quit smoking. It was a nasty habit. But it also calmed Ron. Focused him.  
  
"You? Protect Brian? I don't think so," Ron said harshly. "That's your real problem, isn't it, Justin? Guilt. You're full of guilt."  
  
"I am not," Justin mumbled.  
  
"Oh, but you are," Ron returned. "If I'd been in the Quad then Brian never would have been stabbed. He wouldn't have come so close to dying. You must think about that every time you see that awful scar, don't you? That scar that mars his otherwise perfect body. That scar he got defending you. If I'd still been in the Quad the low-riders would never have dared to touch my punk. I would've seen that Cisco was dealt with before he ever came within breathing distance of Baby. But you were the weak link, Justin. You were the lure that brought him right to the low-riders. You're the reason Brian was almost killed. I'm sure you think about that every night when you see Brian naked. I know I'm right, little boy."  
  
Justin shrank back against the dumpster. "Go away! Just go away! Leave us alone! Can't you do that? Can't you?" Justin put his hands over his face, trying to block out images of blood and darkness. Horrible images he could never truly erase.  
  
Ron was right. He was the reason Brian had been hurt. Scarred. It was his weakness. His fault. He'd never get that out of his head.  
  
"Justin?"  
  
Brian was standing there in the alley, frowning.  
  
"Here you are, kid," Brian said. "Your mother said you probably went to the bathroom, but you never came back."  
  
"I think I'll go in and see if my wife needs any help," said Ron. He gave Brian an enigmatic look. Then Ron tossed the butt of his cigarette on the ground and crushed it with the heel of his shoe before he went inside.  
  
Brian watched Ron retreat into the diner. Then he turned to Justin. "He's gone now. You can tell me what's really going on."  
  
Justin swallowed. "Nothing. Nothing at all."  
  
"Nothing sure seems like something," said Brian. "What are you and Ron cooking up behind my back?"  
  
"I said nothing!" Justin lashed out. But then his face crumbled. "Nothing," he sobbed.  
  
Brian grabbed Justin into his arms and held him against his chest. "Whatever it might be, it really is nothing, Justin," Brian murmured. "If you want to tell me, fine. But if you don't then it's not important. The only important thing is us, okay?" Brian wiped away a drop of salty moisture from Justin's cheek. "Okay?"  
  
"Okay," Justin nodded. "Brian, what did Ron say to you? When you two came into the diner? And you smiled."  
  
Brian raised his eyebrow. "What did Ron say? When we walked in?" Brian thought for a moment. "He said, 'Wait until Justin sees the new cassette player that Benny installed in the Thunderbird.' That's all he said."  
  
"Cassette player?" Justin sniffed.  
  
"Yeah," said Brian. "I bought it this morning and Ron and I took it over to have it put into the T-bird while his mechanic was checking it out. Now we're really all set for our trip! But we'll need to buy some tapes to play in the car."  
  
"I'm all set for our trip, too," Justin said, his voice stronger. "I only want to get out of here! To get away. Do you know what I mean? Is that what you want, too, Brian?"  
  
Brian kissed Justin in the alley, leaning him back against the dirty dumpster. "Amen," he said. It was like a prayer against his lover's mouth. "Amen."  
  



	8. Chapter 8

  
Author's notes: Brian and Justin go to Babylon, circa 1979.  


* * *

July 1979  
  
  
Brian had wanted a good night's sleep in order to get an early start for their trip to Florida tomorrow.  
  
So why was it after 2:00 a.m. and why he was still awake? And, more importantly, why were he and Justin in a gay disco?  
  
Babylon.  
  
Thumpa, thumpa, thumpa.  
  
Brian's poor head was splitting in half.  
  
"We are family! I got all my sisters with me!"  
  
They must have played that goddamn song five times already. And a song by The Village People, 'Go West!' at least as many times. Fucking disco music! Brian felt like going up to the DJ booth, ripping the door open, and playing a real song! Something by The Rolling Stones or The Doors or The Velvet Underground. But they probably didn't have anything like that in the place. If they did, the DJ certainly hadn't played it.  
  
Well, thought Brian, it was worth a try.  
  
He set his unfinished bottle of Rolling Rock on the bar and made his way through the crowd to the DJ booth. The booth was on a platform overlooking the dance floor, which was pulsing flashing lights with every thumpa of the beat. Brian could see Justin in the middle of that floor, his shirt off, dancing with his eyes closed. He was having a good time, so why couldn't Brian? Brian shook his head in resignation.  
  
"Hey!" Brian shouted up at the booth, trying to be heard above the din.  
  
The DJ looked over and saw a very hot man in faded jeans, a plain white tank top, and shaggy, unstyled hair. He didn't look like a slick New York-style disco queen or a San Francisco clone. No, he looked more like a normal guy-type guy. A workman. Maybe even a bit of a hippie. The DJ liked that. He stood out in the crowd like a lion among the lambs.  
  
"What can I do for you, handsome?" the DJ asked. It never hurt to flirt. That's what Babylon was all about. Hooking up for the night.  
  
Jesus, thought Brian. Everyone is cruising. Always cruising.  
  
"Do you think you can play... something else?" Brian pleaded. "Anything else! I mean, how many fucking songs by The Village People or The BeeGees can anyone listen to in one night?"  
  
"Honey, this is Babylon! Guys come here to dance," said the DJ, laughing. "So I play dance music! What do you think this is? Woodstock?"  
  
But Brian wasn't laughing. "I only wish. Don't you have any Hendrix? Morrison? The Who? People can dance to that!"  
  
The DJ only shrugged. "Not here, Butch. This is a GAY club -- in case you hadn't noticed."  
  
"Yeah, I noticed," Brian grumbled. "But who the fuck says that all fags have to like the fucking Village People? That's ridiculous!"  
  
The DJ leaned down to Brian. Yum. He smelled like clean sweat. No cologne at all. Yes, this man was hot. Real queen's bait. A daddy in the making. "Next thing you'll be telling me that you don't care for Judy. Or Barbra! Or Bette!"  
  
"I fucking hate them all!" Brian returned. "I guess I give up."  
  
"Hang on," said the DJ. "I might have something I can play for you. I'll take a look. In the meanwhile, can I buy you a drink?"  
  
"Thanks, but no thanks," said Brian. "I think I'll retrieve my boyfriend and hit the road -- literally!"  
  
Brian walked away from the DJ booth and pushed his way into the middle of the crowd of writhing, wriggling bodies. He'd never seen so much glitter in one place before. It was on the boys, on the floor, on every surface. It was even floating in any drink left unattended for even a moment. Glitter. That pretty much summed up the entire Babylon experience as far as Brian was concerned. Shiny bits of nothing.  
  
"Hey!" Brian shouted as he came up behind Justin. "Sunshine!"  
  
"There you are!" Justin grinned broadly when he turned and saw his lover.  
  
Justin had been dancing his ass off all night and it was great! It felt fabulous to let off some steam and release all the stress he'd been feeling. He was sweaty and exhilarated and more than a little drunk. Two Black Russians, a shot of tequila, and a bottle of beer was more alcohol than he'd had to drink since he was a senior at St. James Academy. "Brian! These are my friends. They come into the diner all the time. This is Lucas and his boyfriend Matt."  
  
Brian scanned the two kids Justin was dancing with. They looked like skinny, over-grown high school students with spiky haircuts and tight plastic stretch pants. Their bare, damp torsos were plastered with the glitter that coated everything else. Even Justin had it all over his shoulders and in his golden hair.  
  
"Hi!" said the first kid, Lucas. He reminded Brian of a younger Emmett Honeycutt. "Wanna dance with us?"  
  
"Sorry, but we have to be going," said Brian, taking Justin's elbow gently. "Justin, we've got to get up early tomorrow to leave for Florida."  
  
"Come on! One dance!" Justin begged. "Pretty please?"  
  
It wasn't that Brian wanted to be a fucking stick in the mud, but he truly felt out of place in Babylon. He didn't like the music and he didn't care for the atmosphere. And, frankly, it made him uncomfortable to see Justin having such a good time. It only seemed to underscore the difference in their ages, something that was constantly on Brian's mind. Most of the guys on the dance floor were in their early twenties or even younger. At 31 Brian felt like a cranky old crow surrounded by a flock of giggling peacocks.  
  
"Justin, your boyfriend is a hunk!" swooned Matt. "But are you sure he's really gay? He sure doesn't dress very gay."  
  
"Oh, he's gay all right!" Justin assured the other boy. "I keep trying to get him to go to Sheer Madness and get his hair styled, but he won't do it!"  
  
"What does my fucking hair have to do with being a queer?" Brian demanded. It irked him the way people talked about you when you were standing right next to them. "Or the way I dress? Or the kind of music I like?"  
  
Lucas smirked. "How else do you know you're really one of the Boys, darling?"  
  
That fucking steamed Brian. "Maybe it's the way I like to shove my 9-inch dick up a nice, tight asshole that gives me a clue!"  
  
All three boys broke out into peals of laughter at Brian's remark. "He's a HOOT!" yelped Lucas. "I just love your boyfriend to pieces, Justy! I wish Matt and I could find a really butch number to take home with us. But the clubs are full of nothing but queens these days. It's impossible to find a real man anywhere!"  
  
"Maybe if you'd stop looking for someone covered with glitter and a gallon of hair gel you might actually find what you're looking for," Brian retorted. "Justin, let's get the fuck out of here!"  
  
"He was only kidding, Brian," said Justin, suddenly serious. He pulled Brian away from the two other boys. "We were only having fun." Justin noticed the glitter sticking to his arms and tried to brush it off. "We weren't hurting anybody. I'm sorry if you're pissed at me."  
  
Brian looked at Justin's fallen face and felt a tug at his heart. Justin had been through so much in his young life. Yes, he deserved to have a little fun. To dance and laugh with boys his own age. Even if it didn't include Brian.  
  
"I'm sorry, too, Justin. I didn't mean to be an asshole to your friends. It's just that I feel like a fucking alien in this place. Or like an old man."  
  
But Justin took Brian's hand and squeezed it. "Let's go home. I've had enough of my 'Farewell to Pittsburgh' night out. I'm ready to leave now. Really ready."  
  
As they walked towards the exit of Babylon, Brian heard the DJ talking over the sound system. "This one is dedicated to that hot man in the white tee shirt. I still want to buy you a drink, Butch!"  
  
And Brian heard The Clash playing 'I Fought the Law' ringing through the club as he and Justin left it all behind.  
  



	9. Chapter 9

July 1979  
  
  
Brian's plans to get an early start were doomed from the moment he woke up and tried to get Justin out of bed.  
  
"Rise and shine, Sunshine," Brian whispered, already knowing that it was hopeless to wait for Justin to get up on his own.  
  
"Ouch!" Justin opened one bleary eye. "My head!" he moaned. "Why don't you shoot me now?"  
  
"You're doing a perfect impression of my old man on the morning after the night before," Brian said without irony. "I warned you about those drinks with funny names. You should've stuck to beer."  
  
"But the Black Russians were so good!" Justin insisted, turning over and hiding his throbbing face in the pillow.  
  
"As good as your head feels this morning?" Brian asked, pulling the sheet off Justin's slender body and surveying the damage. "Here's something else that looks good. Yes, just the thing for breakfast."  
  
"Aw," he murmured as Brian trailed his tongue down Justin's back to his plump ass. "That feels... oh my God! Oh!"  
  
"How's that for a hangover cure?" Brian asked, lifting his head. "Is it working?"  
  
"Don't stop now!" Justin urged. "I think my headache is getting better!"  
  
"I ought to patent this cure," Brian laughed, reaching underneath Justin and stroking his hard cock. "But I think it's still illegal in some states. Most states, actually."  
  
Justin got up on his hands and knees. "Fuck me, Brian! Finish the cure! My headache's almost gone."  
  
"We're never going get on the road, are we?" Brian asked.  
  
But still he slicked up his dick with some of the premium lube Debbie had given them as a going away gift. He couldn't resist. Couldn't have stopped himself even if he really wanted to. The idea that he and Justin could fuck any time they want, for as long as they wanted, was intoxicating. No C.O.'s to hide from. No one rattling the door of the cell. No furtive movements in the dark in a narrow bunk under a rough blanket. This was their apartment, their room, their bed. They had all the time in the world.  
  
"Jesus," he gasped. He'd come faster than he expected. Then Justin also came, Brian's hand wrapped around his cock. "That was good."  
  
But it was getting late. Brian got out of bed and raised the shade on the window. Justin winced. "That's too bright!"  
  
"It's a bright, hot day," said Brian. "Looks perfect for driving. So get up, get your shower, and finish packing. I'd like to get on the road before noon."  
  
Brian had only drunk one cup of coffee and Justin was still drying off when there was a knock at the door. "Who's that?"  
  
"Mom!" said Justin, opening the door. "What are you doing here this morning?"  
  
"I wanted to catch you before you boys left," she replied, strolling into the apartment. "I brought cookies for you to eat on the road." She showed them the tin. "Chocolate chip and peanut butter. They're Ronnie's favorites."  
  
"Cookies," Brian huffed. "Always cookies!"  
  
"Thanks, Mom," said Justin, taking the tin and giving her a quick kiss. "I'm sure we'll get hungry while we're driving."  
  
Jennifer smiled at Justin. She noticed that Brian's suitcase was waiting by the door, but that Justin's was still open on the living room floor. She was trying to remain calm at the thought of her son and Brian taking off for who knows where.  
  
"Do you boys have any reservations for tonight? And what about when you get to Florida? Where are you going to stay? Is there a number where I can reach you?"  
  
Justin sighed. He'd already explained this to his mother ten times.  
  
"Mom, we have our maps and we're going to take things as they come. Tonight we'll stay in a motel, but I don't know where. And when we get to Florida we'll play it by ear."  
  
"But darling...," Jennifer began.  
  
"It'll be fine, Mrs. Taylor," Brian reassured her. Then he stopped. "I mean, Mrs. Rosenblum." Even though he'd been the Best Man at the wedding, saying that still felt odd. "Jennifer," he added. That sounded better. "Justin will call you tonight and I'll make sure he keeps you posted along the way. Okay?"  
  
Jennifer gave Brian a forced smile. "I appreciate that, Brian. And Justin, I... I only want to know where you are. I get worried. The world is so dangerous!"  
  
"I understand, Mom," said Justin, glancing at Brian and rolling his eyes. "I'll keep in touch. I promise."  
  
"Oh, I almost forgot!" said Jennifer, reaching into her purse. "I saw this at the drug store last night and had to get it for you, honey. For your trip."  
  
Jennifer handed her son a small Kodak Instamatic, two boxes of film, and three packages of Flashcubes.  
  
"A camera!" Justin cried. "This is perfect! It'll fit right in my pocket. I'll take loads of pictures so you can see where Brian and I went and what we did. Thanks, Mom."  
  
Jennifer looked like she was about to cry, so Brian stepped in with a cup of coffee, which she sipped while Justin raced around the apartment, shoving last-minute items into his new suitcase.  
  
"Sunshine! Let's get this show on the road," said Brian, impatiently. His own suitcase was half empty. A couple pairs of jeans, some tee shirts, briefs, socks, a razor -- what more did you need? He couldn't imagine what the hell Justin was packing, unless he was taking everything he owned.  
  
"Don't forget to come over and water the plants," Justin instructed his mother as they finally stood by the Thunderbird, ready to go. "And get the mail. And make sure you pay our rent and the phone and utilities while we're gone. And...." Justin couldn't think of anything else. "Do you have your key to the apartment?"  
  
"She's got the key," Brian called. He was already racing the engine. "Now get your butt in the car! Now!"  
  
"Bye, Mom!" said Justin, getting in next to Brian. "I'll call!"  
  
"Goodbye, honey!" Jennifer shouted as she watched the Thunderbird move down Barker Place. "Be careful!"  
  
"Finally!" said Brian, as he turned down Liberty Avenue. "It'll be dark before we even get out of Pennsylvania."  
  
Justin grinned. "But we're on our way now!" He fumbled through a plastic bag and pulled out a cassette. "We need some music to start our trip."  
  
"Okay," said Brian. "Anything BUT The Village People."  
  
Justin pushed the cassette into the player. They had stopped at Record World the night before and stocked up on music to take with them. "This is NOT The Village People!" Justin asserted.  
  
The soaring guitars of Cheap Trick filled the T-bird and poured out the windows.  
  
"Surrender! Surrender! But don't give yourself away! Way.... waaaaaayyyyy!"  
  
Too late for that, thought Brian. We're both already gone.  
  



	10. Chapter 10

  
Author's notes: On the road -- finally!  


* * *

July 1979  
  
  
"I was here when I was in 7th Grade," said Justin as he and Brian walked around Gettysburg. "It was our yearly field trip. All I can remember is that it was raining like crazy that day and we ate lunch at the big trunk-stop at Breezewood on the Pennsylvania Turnpike."  
  
"Well, it isn't raining today," Brian commented, squinted up at the bright July sun. "It's hot as a bitch." He felt the sweat trickling down the back of his neck and into his tee shirt. He and Justin had been walking for about an hour, looking at the battlefield and the cemetery, while Justin tried out his new Instamatic.  
  
There were a lot of families touring Gettysburg -- dad and mom and young kids, who ran wild on the grass or pretended to shoot each other while their parents took photos and read the historical markers. There were also groups of Boy Scouts, dutifully following their leaders and listening to lectures about the history of the Civil War. And there were a few lone walkers, mostly older men who carried detailed guidebooks and took pictures of specific sites with expensive foreign cameras.  
  
"You want to stay here in Gettysburg tonight?" asked Justin. There were lots of motels in the area, as well as fast food restaurants and shops selling cheap souvenirs, everything in blue or gray so that you could choose your affiliation, either North or South.  
  
"I don't know," Brian shrugged. "I think I'd like to get out of Pennsylvania at least. We haven't gotten very far on our first day on the road."  
  
"I didn't think we were in a hurry, Brian," said Justin, checking to see how many shots were left before he had to change the film cartridge. "I like taking our time and just stopping whenever we feel like it. Not having a schedule is good. I'm sick of schedules and people telling me what to do and when to do it."  
  
"Ah, freedom!" Brian smiled. He liked that feeling, too, even though it made him uneasy. He had lived for so long in a limited environment -- the confines of his cell, his tier, his wing, the Stanton Quad -- that to have the whole fucking world in front of him, with no limits, made him nervous. Freedom was an unknown. An open road was also a ominous road. You never who was who or what was around the next bend. And that was thrilling, but it was frightening, too.  
  
"This is a beautiful place," said Justin. "I mean, once you get away from all the tourist stuff in the town. What do people do with that junk when they get it home? Why would anyone want salt and pepper shakers of General Grant and General Lee?"  
  
"I don't know," Brian admitted. "People always want to buy something, even if it's stupid, just because they're on vacation. Maybe it's to prove they were actually there. I had an aunt who collected spoons. A spoon from Niagara Falls. Another from the World's Fair. One from Washington, D.C. From Virginia Beach. From wherever the fuck they happened to go that summer. She had a wooden frame to hang them and display in her living room. Who knows why she wanted them? Why do all these people take pictures of the battlefield?" Brian gestured at the grass. "It's just a field. It's just trees. It looks like any other field. The battle happened over a hundred years ago. There's really nothing to see. Nothing at all."  
  
"That reminds me," said Justin, grinning. "I want a picture of the two of us!"  
  
Brian rolled his eyes. "Why do you want a picture of me? I'm not a fucking national monument!"  
  
"You are to me," Justin laughed. "Now stand right there. That wooden fence makes a good background." Justin peered through the tiny viewer and centered the shot. "Smile!" he ordered, snapping the picture while Brian made a face.  
  
"Let's get something to eat and head south," said Brian. "I've had enough of battlefields and cemeteries. It feels like too many ghosts are still hanging around here."  
  
"One more! Of us together!" Justin insisted. A man was standing nearby, leafing through a guidebook. "Excuse me? Will you take a picture of me and my boyfriend?"  
  
The man stared at Justin and frowned. Then he glanced at Brian. And he walked away abruptly.  
  
"Hey!" Justin called after him. "What's your problem?"  
  
"Justin!" Brian barked. "Forget it! Let's get the hell out of here."  
  
"But I want a picture!" Justin retorted. He saw a woman standing next to an historical marker, reading the inscription. She had curly gray hair and round glasses and her face looked kind. But you never know, Justin thought. You never really know.  
  
"Excuse me, ma'am?" Justin said softly, giving her his most ingratiating grin. "Will you please take a picture of me and my boyfriend?" He paused. "That other man refused to do it. Will you?"  
  
The woman gazed at Justin, blinking. Then she looked at Brian, who came up behind him and put his hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Of course, honey." She had a distinct Southern accent. "Just show me how to work the thing and I'll take it for you."  
  
"Thanks!" Justin replied. "Look through the viewer and press this button. Then you advance the film here." He indicated a small lever. "That's all you have to do."  
  
Justin stood back and put his arm around Brian. But Brian wasn't smiling. "Come on!" Justin urged. "For the picture!" And Brian smiled tightly as the woman took the photo.  
  
"Let me take another to be sure, darlin'," she said, snapping a second shot.  
  
"Thanks so much!" said Justin, retrieving the camera. "Are you from the South? That's where we're going! To Florida. We have a friend from Hazelhurst, Mississippi -- Emmett Honeycutt. Are you from anywhere around there?"  
  
"Why no, honey," said the woman, shaking her head. "I'm from Philippi, West Virginia. That's nowhere near Mississippi."  
  
"I guess not," said Justin, checking the camera. There were two more shots before he'd have to change the film cartridge.  
  
"You boys driving all the way to Florida?" she asked. "That's a long trip."  
  
"I know," said Justin. "That's what we want. A nice long drive -- just the two of us!"  
  
The woman touched Justin's arm gently. "You be careful, darlin'," she said with some concern. "Don't be getting into any trouble." Then she turned to Brian. "You take good care of this boy, you hear me?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Brian agreed. "I hear you."  
  
The two of them began heading back to the lot where they had parked the T-bird.  
  
"Justin," said Brian. "I want you to listen to me and not get angry."  
  
Justin sighed. He already knew what Brian was going to say. "I'm listening."  
  
"That man back there -- that wasn't a smart thing to do," said Brian. "That wasn't using your head, Justin. I know that you feel you don't have anything to hide, but this isn't Liberty Avenue where they're used to seeing guys together. This also isn't the Quad, where everyone knew us and accepted a jock and his punk."  
  
"But Brian...." Justin tried to interrupt.  
  
"No! This is important!" Brian asserted. "We're going out into the world -- and the world does NOT like faggots! That's the reality and that's what we have to live with, kid. Maybe some people might be nice, like that lady. But other people won't be so understanding. You know that, Justin, so don't make trouble for yourself. Or for both of us. Most people will live and let live -- unless you push them. And people don't like to be pushed."  
  
"But this is 1979, Brian!" Justin insisted. "Not 1969! Things are changing. I'm not ashamed of being a queer -- and neither are you."  
  
"I know you're not, Justin, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't be extra careful, especially as we go farther south," said Brian. "Like I said, use your fucking head! Because if you get into trouble, then I'll be the one who has to get you out of it. I'm your jock and that means I have to protect you -- no matter what. Do you understand me?"  
  
Justin flinched. The rough scar along Brian's side came clearly into his mind. And Brian, lying on the ground with the blood seeping out of him. "Yes," Justin said in a subdued voice. "I understand." He reached over and took his lover's hand in his own. "I'm sorry, Brian. I wasn't thinking. If anything happened to you again, I... I...." he swallowed. "Let's go. Please?"  
  
Justin was very brave, but sometimes he was too fearless, too open and honest, Brian thought. Brian didn't want to stifle that fearless nature. But he also wanted Justin to be safe. Always safe.  
  
"Yeah," said Brian, squeezing Justin's hand. "Let's get out of Pennsylvania and see what the rest of the world has in store for us."  
  



	11. Chapter 11

  
Author's notes: Motels are full of surprises...  


* * *

July 1979  
  
  
Just over the Virginia state line, Brian and Justin stopped and ate dinner at a Howard Johnson's.  
  
"There are a couple of motels along this strip," said Brian as he picked at an onion ring. "Let's find one, get a good night's sleep, and then get an early start tomorrow morning."  
  
"Sounds good to me!" Justin grinned. "But first -- ice cream for dessert!" He reached for the menu to review the long list of selections.  
  
Brian raised an eyebrow. "You aren't going to make me stop at every Howard Johnson's between here and Florida so that you can work your way through all 28 flavors, are you?"  
  
Justin's eyes widened innocently. "Sounds like a plan to me. I think I'll start with vanilla." He raised his hand and motioned the waitress over, ordering a hot fudge sundae.  
  
"And what will you have, sir?" she asked, turning to Brian.  
  
"More coffee," Brian replied. Then he thought about the long drive ahead of them the next day. "Make it de-caf."  
  
Justin made short work of the sundae and then the waitress brought over the check.  
  
"Jesus," said Brian, taking out his wallet. "Almost five bucks for two burgers, fries, onion rings, Coke, coffee -- and a hot fudge sundae! That's highway robbery!"  
  
"But we have money, Brian," Justin interjected. "Don't forget the advance for your book."  
  
"That's the money we've been living on, kid," Brian reminded him. "And we may have to live on it for a while -- or at least until some royalties come in after publication. But that's not until this fall. And I'll be damned if I'm going to borrow money from Ron if we run short!"  
  
"We won't," Justin said firmly. "But if we do, then we can get jobs as lifeguards down in Florida! Or as poolboys!"  
  
Brian made a face. "That the hell is a poolboy?"  
  
"It's a cute guy who comes to your house and cleans your pool!" Justin explained. "He usually wears really tight swim trunks and has a great ass!"  
  
Brian frowned. "Who told you about that?"  
  
"Two guys at the diner," Justin smiled. "They said I'd make a really good poolboy. Then they invited me to come over to their house to give it a try."  
  
"I bet!" Brian snorted, putting down a tip for the waitress. "Poolboys, huh? Over my dead body! Come on -- let's blow this joint."  
  
The Mountainview Motel about a mile down the road had a large sign that proclaimed it had 'Vacancies' -- and also air conditioning and cable TV.  
  
"This place looks as good as any of them," said Brian, pulling up to the office. "You wait here and I'll check in."  
  
Brian asked for a double room. He paid the $12 in advance and the man at the desk handed him the key.  
  
"Room 17," said Brian to Justin, slipping back into the T-bird.  
  
"This is fun!" said Justin, as Brian parked the car in front of the room. "I haven't stayed at a motel since I was a kid."  
  
"Me neither," said Brian, getting out of the T-bird and popping open the trunk. "But we'll be seeing the inside of a lot of motel rooms before we reach Florida." He grabbed his suitcase and also pulled out Justin's bag.  
  
The motel room was basic -- just a double bed with a small bedside table, a desk with a television bolted to it, a tiny closet, and a bathroom. But the air conditioner whirred away loudly in the window, blasting cool air into the room.  
  
"This feels great, Brian!" Justin said, standing directly in front of the unit and basking in the cold air flowing over him. "I wish the T-bird had air conditioning. It was getting really hot while we were driving."  
  
"The T-bird does have air conditioning," Brian retorted. He kicked off his boots and pushed them into the closet with his foot. "It's called 'windows'! You roll them down and enjoy the breeze!"  
  
Justin rolled his eyes. "It's going to get a lot hotter, isn't it?"  
  
"Obviously," said Brian, stripping off his tee shirt and flopping down on the bed. "It's July and we're heading south. Florida will probably be pretty steamy. But no worse than the Quad on a hot day." Brian thought about the heat that hung relentlessly over Stanton Correctional in the summer and the sweltering cells where there was little relief. "But as long as these motels are air conditioned, I can deal with it. Unless you want to go home already?"  
  
"Are you kidding?" Justin laughed. He went over to the bed. "Shove over!"  
  
Brian moved over and let Justin lie down next to him. He had the remote control for the television in his hand and he began clicking it. "There must be at least 10 different channels here -- including Home Box Office!"  
  
"What the fuck is the need for 10 channels?" asked Brian. "You can only watch one at a time -- and what's on is nothing but crap anyway."  
  
Justin moved from channel to channel, pausing for a few minutes on one and then jumping to the next.  
  
"Will you stop that!" snapped Brian, grabbing for the remote control. "Find something to watch and stay there."  
  
But Justin wrestled the changer back. "Don't be a spoiled sport! It's neat looking at all the channels!"  
  
Brian got up and headed for the bathroom. "In that case, I'm taking a shower -- and then I'm going to bed."  
  
After he finished his shower Brian felt much better. He had to admit that he was nervous starting out from Pittsburgh on the trip. They had a long way to go and the outside world still freaked Brian out more than he wanted to admit. But the whole point of this vacation was for the two of them to have fun. To relax. To understand completely that they really were free and could go anywhere and do anything they wanted to.  
  
Brian wrapped the thin motel towel around his waist. Justin was lying in bed under the sheet, his pale bare chest shining in the dim light of the television. He had turned on some late night talk show, but he had the sound turned down.  
  
"Look at this, Brian," Justin said, pointing to a metal box clamped to the headboard of the bed. "'Magic Fingers -- Relaxing Massage.' And it's only 25 cents! You want to try it?"  
  
Brian frowned. "What do they mean? What kind of massage? In that box?"  
  
"I don't know," said Justin. "Give me a quarter and we'll find out."  
  
Brian retrieved a quarter from the pocket of his jeans and tossed it to Justin, who slipped it into the slot. The bed immediately began to make a chugging sound and then began to shake.  
  
"Wow!" cried Justin, lying flat on the bed. "It's vibrating like crazy! Kind of like a carnival ride!"  
  
Brian watched as the bed buzzed and Justin laughed. "That's the stupidest thing I've seen yet!" he said.  
  
"Don't knock it until you've tried it," said Justin as the 'Magic Fingers' sputtered to the stop and the bed was once again still. "Get on. But get a handful of quarters first. I have a brilliant idea!"  
  
"Oh, yeah?" Brian smirked. "I bet I can guess what your brilliant idea is."  
  
"Does that mean you don't want to do it?" Justin asked, his mouth making a pouting movement.  
  
"Of course I want to do it, you little punk!" Brian collected a handful of change from his jeans pocket and then tossed his towel onto the floor. "What do you think?"  
  
Brian pushed another quarter into the metal box and the 'Magic Fingers' began to agitate the bed. He squirted some lube onto his hands and slicked up his cock, which was already hard in anticipation.  
  
Justin lifted up his legs. The vibration from the mattress was running up and down his back. "Quick! Get your dick into me before it shuts off!"  
  
"Don't worry, I have plenty of quarters," Brian reassured him. He eased his cock into Justin slowly, but he could feel the boy's ass vibrating. And also the vibration on his knees and legs as he knelt over him. It was a strange but extremely arousing sensation.  
  
Brian began to thrust, but the 'Magic Fingers' shut off only a few minutes in. "Shit!" said Brian, feeding in another quarter. "This thing is like a goddamn slot machine! It's addictive!"  
  
"There's only one 'slot' I care about," Justin moaned as the bed began to vibrate again. "So don't stop now! Don't EVER stop! Oh, God!"  
  
"There goes my good night's sleep," breathed Brian as he felt the buzz of the bed move from Justin's ass directly to his cock, sending him into a frenzy of fucking. "But what the hell? I can sleep any time! I'll sleep tomorrow!"  
  
After they both had come and the bed was quiet, Brian and Justin lay side by side listening to the loud whir of the air conditioner.  
  
"You were right, Brian. We can sleep in tomorrow," Justin sighed contentedly. "We have all the time in the world to get to Florida. All the time we need." Then he reached out to the bedside table for another quarter to put into the metal box. "After all -- we're on vacation. But we WILL need more quarters!"  



	12. Chapter 12

  
July 1979  
  
  
By the time Brian and Justin woke up the next morning it was almost check-out time.  
  
Brian groaned when he looked at his watch. "Shit! It's all the fault of that fucking devil machine! That goddamn Magic Fingers!"  
  
"No problem," said Justin, yawning. "Why don't we stay here today and go on tomorrow? There's a pool and I'd really like to take a swim."  
  
Brian sat up and tried to smooth down his bed-head. "Why not? This is as good a place as any to catch our breath."  
  
"I saw a payphone next to the ice machine. I'm going to call my mom and let her know that we're okay," said Justin, jumping out of bed. "I should have called her last night, but I forgot."  
  
"Put your pants on first," Brian reminded him. "We don't want to get thrown out of this dump."  
  
"Don't worry," said Justin, pulling on his khaki shorts and a tee shirt. "I'll bring back a bucket of ice, too."  
  
"See if you can find me some coffee while you're at it," Brian said. "Black with plenty of sugar."  
  
"I know how you like it," Justin replied, grinning. He pocketed some change and headed for the door.  
  
"Oh," Brian added. "And when you call your mother don't forget to reverse the charges! Let Ron pay for the call. He can afford it."  
  
While Justin was gone, Brian cleaned up the room a bit, picking up their clothes from where they'd been dropped on the floor and stashing the lube back in his suitcase. He didn't want the maids finding anything suspicious on the nightstand. After spending a decade in prison, Brian was a cautious man. Being on the outside brought out all of his paranoia and protective instincts, especially where Justin was concerned.  
  
After about a half hour, Justin returned with the coffee, two Danish pastries, a large bucket of ice, and some cans of Coke. Brian was drying off from the shower.  
  
"Hand me my jeans," he asked as Justin sat on the bed and opened the newspaper.  
  
Justin tossed him the jeans. "Aren't you going swimming? Put on your new bathing suit." Justin had bought Brian bathing trunks for the trip at the same time he had bought his own.  
  
Brian winced. "I don't think so." His hand went unconsciously to the scar that ran red and jagged down his left side.  
  
"No one is going to look at that, Brian," Justin insisted. "They won't even notice it. Besides, we'll probably be the only ones at the pool."  
  
"I don't feel like swimming." Brian turned away. "I'll just watch you."  
  
A short time later they walked out to the pool area. It wasn't exactly opulent -- a cement hole surrounded by a few plastic folding chairs -- but the day was getting hot and the water looked cool and inviting. Two small children splashed in the shallow end under the watchful eye of their mother and a teenaged girl in a pink two-piece was sunning herself on large beach towel next to the edge of the pool.  
  
While Brian found a chair, Justin pulled off his tee shirt and shorts, revealing his new blue bathing suit underneath. He'd gotten it at a shop on Liberty Avenue and it was a bit skimpy, but Justin didn't care. He was planning to enjoy this vacation and he knew that he looked good in the swimsuit. And that Brian thought he looked good in it, too. That's all that mattered.  
  
He dove into the pool and let the cold water envelop him. It felt wonderful on his warm skin.  
  
"Brian! Come in with me!" Justin called.  
  
"I'm reading the paper." Brian had pulled his chair into the shade and was looking over front page news. Justin had brought him a copy of 'The Washington Post.' They weren't that far from D.C. here in Virginia and it was better than the local rag.  
  
"You don't know what you're missing!" Justin paddled back and forth in the water.  
  
Justin noticed that the girl on the towel was staring at him with open interest. Justin immediately blushed. He wasn't interested in girls but they still had the power to embarrass him. The girl slipped into the water and began swimming next to him.  
  
"Hey," she said. She had a slight Southern accent and large brown eyes. "I'm Mary Jo."  
  
"Hi," said Justin. He stopped and pushed the wet hair out of his face. "I'm Justin."  
  
"I got a cousin named Justin," she replied flirtatiously. "But he's not as cute as you!"  
  
"Oh," said Justin. He had no idea what to say to this girl.  
  
"You staying at the motel?" Mary Jo asked.  
  
"Yeah, we stayed here last night and we're leaving tomorrow. We're going to Florida." Justin glanced over at Brian, who was deeply into his newspaper.  
  
"What's that on your arm?" said Mary Jo. She reached out and touched Justin's right shoulder with her finger. Justin shivered.  
  
"Oh, this?" Justin swallowed. "It's a tattoo."  
  
"A tattoo!" she exclaimed. "I don't know anybody with a tattoo except my old Uncle Micah and he got his in the Navy! Lemme see it!"  
  
"It's nothing," said Justin, suddenly very shy. He dove under the water and began to swim away.  
  
But the girl laughed and followed him, thinking Justin was playing with her. The two of them flashed through the water, bobbing up at one end and then swimming to the other.  
  
Finally, Justin pulled himself out of the pool, shaking the water out of his hair and from where it was puddled in the seat of his blue bathing suit.  
  
"Your tattoo -- it's a heart!" said Mary Jo, drying herself off with her beach towel. "It's pretty. What's it say?"  
  
"Brian," said Justin. "That's what it says."  
  
"Brian?" the girl frowned. "That's a funny thing to have on a tattoo! Who's Brian?"  
  
"Justin!"  
  
Justin started and looked over to where Brian was sitting in the shade, squinting at him.  
  
"I'll be right over!" Justin called back. "Brian." Then he glanced at the girl, who was gazing at him with a puzzled expression. Justin dashed back to where Brian was sitting.  
  
"Look at your shoulders!" Brian complained, grabbing a bath towel and rubbing Justin with it briskly. "What the hell were you thinking? You're all red! Where's that sunscreen you were supposed to put on?"  
  
"I forgot," said Justin, closing his eyes. Brian's hands rubbing him all over was getting him excited. "It's in the room."  
  
"Go back and get it," Brian ordered. "Or else you're going to be up all night with a horrible sunburn and I'll have to listen to your moaning."  
  
"Come with me," Justin whispered. "You can put the sunscreen on me. I can't reach all the places."  
  
Brian smirked at his lover. "Then we'll never get back to the pool and you won't need any sunscreen! Besides," he added. "Your new girlfriend will miss you."  
  
"We'll get back out here later this afternoon," said Justin. "Because I want to swim with YOU, Brian! Not with any girl!" Justin pointed to his tattoo. "You."  
  
And then he grinned at Brian and put his arms around him. And he didn't care who was watching.  
  



	13. Chapter 13

  
July 1979  
  
  
That night they went back to dinner at the Howard Johnson's they had eaten at the day before. But Brian noticed that Justin wasn't digging into his Jumbo Shrimp Platter with his usual gusto.  
  
"You all right?" he asked, finishing up his Hot Roast Beef Sandwich with Mashed Potatoes and Homestyle Gravy. He also took a sip of his Coke. Or whatever it was. Not quite real Coke. Some swill called Ho Jo Cola. Brian made a face and set it back down. "Tired?"  
  
"I'm okay," said Justin. He dipped a fat, breaded shrimp into the red cocktail sauce and bit off the end, chewing slowly. "Maybe a little tired."  
  
"Your face looks kind of red." Brian had noticed that Justin's skin was looking more than a bit flushed that afternoon. When they went back to the pool later he'd made certain that Justin had plenty of sunscreen on him before they went into the water. However....  
  
"It's okay," snapped Justin. "I said it was."  
  
They left Howard Johnson's without Justin ordering any ice cream for dessert. That's how Brian knew that something was really wrong.  
  
"Let me see it," he said when they got back in the motel room.  
  
"See what?" asked Justin, wincing.  
  
"Take off your shirt," Brian ordered. "Let me see your back."  
  
Justin hesitated, but he knew that he couldn't hide anything from Brian. He'd have to undress and get into bed. Besides, it hurt. It really, really hurt. He gingerly pulled his tee shirt off over his head. It felt like his skin was on fire.  
  
"Jesus," said Brian, bending over to inspect Justin's inflamed back and shoulders. "That's a hell of a burn."  
  
"I know," whispered Justin. "I forgot the sunscreen and now I'm paying for it. So kill me, okay?"  
  
"No," said Brian. "You've already done a good job at killing yourself." He touched Justin's skin gently. It felt hot and Justin shuddered. "How bad does it hurt?"  
  
"Throbs," Justin breathed. Even Brian's light touch was excruciating.  
  
"Get on the bed -- on your stomach," said Brian.  
  
While Justin did as he was told, Brian went into the bathroom and held a washrag under cold water. Then he went back out and lay the cool cloth on Justin's back. "How does that feel?"  
  
"Better," Justin admitted, but his eyes stung with tears. "What am I going to do, Brian? It fucking hurts!"  
  
"I'll see what I can do." Brian reached for the key to the T-bird. "I'll be right back."  
  
Brian drove down the road in the direction of the Howard Johnson's. Across the street from it was a small strip of shops, including a drugstore. Brian was relieved to see that it was still open.  
  
"What do you have for a bad sunburn?" he asked the woman behind the counter.  
  
"Oh!" exclaimed the woman. "A sunburn? Not for you, darling!" She was admiring Brian's smooth, golden skin, which was gleaming against the stark white of his sleeveless tee shirt.  
  
"No, for my friend. It's mainly on his back and shoulders. But it's really red and nasty-looking."  
  
The woman bustled out from behind the counter and down an aisle. "This is what we sell for sunburn," she said, handing him a spray can of Solarcaine. "Numbs the pain, so they say."  
  
Brian took the can in his hand and read the label. "Thanks. But isn't there anything else I can do?"  
  
"Maybe." The woman went down another aisle. "Aspirin. That should help the pain. And one other thing." She headed for the back of the store where some grocery items were stocked. "This."  
  
Brian took the small brown box. "Baking soda? What do I do with this stuff?"  
  
"Pour it into a cool bath and have your friend soak in it," she explained. "Baking soda is good for just about everything! It's a little sticky, but it'll take away the sting. You just try it, darling, and see. He'll feel right as rain in no time!"  
  
"I appreciate your help, ma'am," said Brian.  
  
"Why no trouble at all, darling," she said as she rang up the purchases.  
  
"Can I get a couple of those Kit Kat bars?" said Brian, noticing the candy on a rack next to the cash register. She smiled and added them to the bag.  
  
When Brian got back to the room Justin was lying on the bed listlessly. The television was on, but the sound was turned down low.  
  
"I've got something for you," said Brian, striding into the bathroom. He began running cool water into the tub. Justin followed and watched Brian take the box of baking soda out of the paper sack and pour the contents into the flow of water, stirring it with his hand. "The lady at the drugstore said this would help. Take off your shorts and get in."  
  
Justin was dubious, but his back and shoulder were throbbing painfully. He dropped his shorts onto the floor and climbed into the tub. The cool water felt like a shock to his raw skin and the baking soda was gritty and unpleasant as he sat down. But then it began to feel better. The water lapped at his shoulders as he eased himself deeper into the tub. The sharpness of the burn began to fade slowly but surely.  
  
"Take these, too," said Brian, handing him two aspirins and a cup of water.  
  
"Thanks," said Justin. He swallowed the tablets and washed them down. "It feels better. It really does."  
  
"Stay in there as long as you can," Brian urged. "Let me know when you start to shrivel up!"  
  
Justin lay in the tub for as long as he was able. But eventually he began to shiver and he could see his fingers puckering at the ends. He stood carefully and reached for a bath towel. Brian heard the splashing and was there in an instant, pulling him out onto the bath mat.  
  
The burn still looked bright red, but it felt cooler to the touch. Justin stood miserably as Brian gently patted him dry with the rough towel. His cock and balls had retracted high up against his body as if in protest of the cold water they'd been subjected to. Brian rubbed them vigorously, warming them and bringing them back to life. Then he hustled Justin into the bed, on his stomach, and sprayed the sunburn with the Solarcaine.  
  
"Shit!" Justin panted as the spray hit his tender skin. "That hurts worse than the burn!"  
  
"Give it a minute to work," said Brian. "It says that it numbs the pain." Brian stripped off his jeans and tee shirt and lay down beside Justin. "Can you sleep without the sheet over us tonight?"  
  
"Sure," said Justin, shutting his eyes. He felt like a jerk for getting himself into this mess at the start of their trip. But it felt good to have Brian taking care of him. "Thanks for doing all of this. I know you think I'm stupid for forgetting the sunscreen. But it's been a long time since I've been swimming. I... I just wasn't thinking."  
  
"Don't worry about it," said Brian, clicking off the television. There was never anything on but commercials -- loud, obnoxious commercials. Who could stand to watch that crap? "Remember how you took care of me when I was in the Hospital Ward at Stanton? I'm only returning the favor."  
  
"Yeah, remember how I'd climb into bed next to you? And Dr. Caputo would pretend that he didn't see me?"  
  
"That was a pretty small bed," said Brian, unwrapping one of the Kit Kats. He popped half into his own mouth and the other into Justin's, which opened eagerly like a baby bird's. "A pretty tight fit. But now we have real beds. And we don't have to hide from anyone, anymore. Right?"  
  
Justin nodded, crunching the Kit Kat. The chocolate tasted good. Smooth. Sweet. "Right. I guess no 'Magic Fingers' tonight?"  
  
"Not unless you really want to kill yourself." Brian stroked Justin's hair. "Climb on top of me -- carefully. That should be okay."  
  
Justin moved over onto Brian's chest, settling his hips against Brian's. The sunburn still hurt, but it felt good to have his skin touching Brian's skin. Usually Brian felt hot, while Justin was cool, but now it was reversed. But that didn't matter. They still fit perfectly.  
  
And that's how they fell asleep, as the old air conditioner whirred in the window. Sleeping together -- perfectly.  
  



	14. Chapter 14

  
July 1979  
  
  
"How's your back feel?"  
  
Justin had not mentioned his sunburn that morning, but Brian noticed that he was moving very slowly, and that when they went to breakfast at the Howard Johnson's, Justin insisted that they sit at the counter and not in one of the booths.  
  
"It's not bad," said Justin, as he stowed his suitcase in the truck of the T-bird.  
  
"It still looks kind of red." Brian put his own suitcase in next to Justin's.  
  
Justin shrugged. "I'm trying not to think about it. I just feel so damn stupid for getting it in the first place."  
  
"It was an accident," said Brian.  
  
Justin opened the door of the car. They were getting another late start. Brian had let Justin sleep in again because he knew that he'd had a restless night.  
  
"Hold on a minute," said Brian. He went back into the motel room and came out with a pillow from the bed. "Here. Put this in the small of your back. It might help."  
  
Justin took the pillow in his hands. "Brian, we can't take this. It belongs to the motel!"  
  
Brian snorted. "Don't worry, kid. I don't think they'll send the Highway Patrol after us for a 2 buck pillow. Now get in and let's move!"  
  
Justin sat in the passenger's seat gingerly, placing the pillow behind him. It was old and shapeless, but it softened the contact between the seat and Justin's sunburn. He waited in the car while Brian went into the office to settle their bill.  
  
"Hey, Justin! You going today?"  
  
Justin looked up to see Mary Jo, the girl from the swimming pool, standing by the T-bird. She was wearing shorts and a pink cotton blouse.  
  
"Yeah, we're heading south today," Justin replied.  
  
"Your face looks awful red," she said. "You get yourself burned up bad?"  
  
Justin nodded. "I forgot my sunscreen. Brian had to go out last night and find some stuff to spray on my back. It still really hurts."  
  
Mary Jo grinned at him. "You watch out, now, if you're going to Florida. The sun's even hotter down there. I spent a couple weeks with my aunt in Apalachicola last winter and I got a burn on the back of my legs! She rubbed vinegar on it, but it stung like crazy!"  
  
Brian came back to the car and saw Justin talking to the girl he'd been swimming with the day before. He'd never really seen Justin with kids his own age, apart from the other punks in the Quad. He often wondered about what Justin was missing out on by spending all of his free time with Brian instead of with his peers. Brian was very conscious of how his own youth had been stolen from him, and he didn't want Justin to feel the same regret he did.  
  
"You ready?" Brian asked, opening the door of the car. He eyed the girl in pink, while she stared back at him with undisguised interest.  
  
"I'm ready, Brian." Justin fastened his seatbelt and grinned at his lover. "Bye, Mary Jo," Justin called as Brian started the car.  
  
"You take care!" She waved as the T-bird pulled out of the motel parking lot and headed for the highway.  
  
"Are you going to send a postcard from Miami to your new girlfriend?" Brian smirked.  
  
"She's not my girlfriend!" Justin blushed. "I don't have girlfriends! I only have you!"  
  
"Yeah," said Brian. "Only me."  
  
Justin turned and looked closely at Brian. "I didn't mean it like that! You're the only one I want, Brian. The only one I'll ever want!"  
  
"Maybe now," Brian answered. "But I see how all those little girls look at you. Maybe... maybe one day you'll want a different kind of life. It's hard to be a queer, Justin. In the Quad it was hard enough, but at least it was accepted. There were no women, so guys tolerated real queers -- as long as they knew their place. But out here...." Brian's voice was somber. "I'm only beginning to understand how hard it is to be a fag in a society that hates you. But I'm learning. Sometimes I wonder if it isn't easier for a guy like Ron. He was straight before prison. Then he took up with me. But that wasn't about love, that was about sex. About convenience. And now...."  
  
"Don't make the mistake of thinking that Ron doesn't still want you, Brian," Justin said. "That he doesn't still love you, even. He may have married my mom, but he still wants you!"  
  
"That's about power, kid," Brian replied. "That's not about love."  
  
"That's what you think." Justin shifted in his seat. The sunburn still ached, but he was dealing with it. After all that Brian had endured in his life, Justin didn't want him to think that his boyfriend couldn't stand a little discomfort.  
  
"Is your back bothering you?"  
  
"A little," Justin admitted. "But what bothers me more is that you might think I'm only hanging out with you while I wait for some girl to come along! What the heck is that all about? That girl at the motel -- she's cute, but I have no interest in her or any other female!"  
  
"Some day you might." Brian kept his eyes on the road. "You might want to get married. Have kids. Not live your life on the margins of society. It's fucking hard to spend your whole life as an outsider. It's too late for me. I'm already set in my ways. But you still have your whole life ahead of you. You can still make other choices."  
  
"Is that why we went on this trip, Brian?" Justin demanded. "So you could dump me somewhere? Or hook me up with some girl in Florida? Get real! I've been a fag ever since I knew what my dick was for! I've only ever been interested in guys. Only fantasized about guys. Only wanted guys. And now I only want YOU! Get that through your thick Irish skull, you big jerk! Jesus! What will it take for you to believe that I already know what I want? It's what I have right now! You!"  
  
Brian smiled. "I love it when you get all indignant. It's hot to see you worked up."  
  
"You're an asshole, Brian!" Justin retorted. He reached into the backseat, feeling around. "Now where's that goddamn map? We'll never find our way to Florida without it!"  
  
"Oh," said Brian. "We'll find our way. Somehow."  
  



	15. Chapter 15

  
Author's notes: This is the last chapter until after the hiatus. I hope you've been enjoying it and will continue with the new chapters to come. Thanks!  


* * *

July 1979  
  
Stanton Correctional Facility for Men  
  
  
"Looky! Looky! Looky!" Emmy called. "Looky what I've got!"  
  
"Will you shut the fuck up? I'm trying to sleep!" Michelle whined from the bottom bunk. It was Saturday morning and she was trying to catch up on her beauty rest.  
  
"Does that mean you don't want your mail?" Em sniped back. "If that's the case, then I'll take it directly back to the mailroom."  
  
Emmy turned and pretended to sashay out of the cell.  
  
"Give me my goddamn mail!" Michelle shrieked. "I'm expecting some new comic books from Ma!"  
  
"They're here," Emmy sniffed, dropping a large manila envelope on the bunk. "I hope you and Superman have a lovely time. But you also got a postcard. And so did I!"  
  
Michelle sat up. "A postcard? Who from?"  
  
"Why don't you read it and see for yourself." Em held out the colorful postcard for Michelle to snatch away. "And I'll read mine, too!"  
  
Michelle examined the card. "I bet you already read both of them on the way over here from the mailroom. I know you did! You're such a nosy bitch, Em!"  
  
"Hey," Em retorted. "If I have to retrieve Her Majesty's mail, then I get to read it! Fair is fair!"  
  
"What's up?" asked Barbie, stopping by to see what all the fuss was about. "Did Michelle borrow your shoes again, Em?"  
  
"I never did!" Michelle blasted. "I was only trying them on!"  
  
"Ladies, please!" said Emmy, calling for quiet. "Michelle and I both got postcards!"  
  
"Oh!" Barbie cried. "Can I read the postcards? Nobody ever sends me any postcards!"  
  
"Will you shut the hell up and let me read MY postcard!" said Michelle. "Cripes! Nobody gets any privacy around here!"  
  
"Why don't you read it out loud so that we all may hear what our little Sunshine has to say?" Em suggested.  
  
"Oh! Is it from Justin?" Barbie said in excitement, reaching for Michelle's postcard. "I want to see it! Please, let me see it!"  
  
"Stop grabbing! I'll read mine if Emmy reads hers out loud, too," Michelle said, grudgingly. She held up the card for Barbie to see. "It's Gettysburg. It says right here: 'Gettysburg National Battlefield.'"  
  
"Why would Justin want to go to a battlefield?" asked Barbie. "That sounds gory!"  
  
Michelle rolled her eyes. "It's like a National Park, pea-brain! Haven't you ever heard of the Battle of Gettysburg? Or the Gettysburg Address? Abraham Lincoln?" But Barbie stared back blankly and shook her head.  
  
"Why don't you simply read the postcard and save the history lesson for later?" said Em.  
  
Michelle sighed melodramatically and began reading:  
  
"Dear M -- Brian & I are on our way to Florida. I'm writing this from Virginia, but first we stopped at Gettysburg. I'm taking tons of pictures! Mom got me an Instamatic camera & it's great! Before we left your mom had a surprise party for us with a big cake & lots of food. I know that she wishes you were there. Maybe this fall you'll finally get your parole. Brian & I are keeping our fingers crossed. Justin."  
  
"That's so sweet!" Barbie gushed. "I wish I could go to Florida!"  
  
"You wish you could go anywhere, honey," said Emmy. "Unfortunately, none of us is going nowhere anytime soon."  
  
"Ma didn't say anything to me about having a big party for Brian and Justin." Michelle gazed sadly at the postcard. Her next parole hearing wasn't until October and all she could do was hope that it went her way.  
  
"When you get out, she'll have an even bigger party for you, sweetie," Em soothed. "I know she will."  
  
"You'll be out before me," Michelle mumbled. "And you have a job as a Medical Technician all lined up that Dr. Caputo got for you! The best I can hope for is working as a dishwasher at the diner!"  
  
"That's better than nothing," Barbie said cheerfully. "Better than going back to turning tricks, like me!"  
  
"Hush, hon," said Emmy. "I'll read you all my postcard now. See? There's a picture of a mountain on it. Isn't that pretty?" Then Em cleared her throat:  
  
"Dear Em -- This is Massanuttan Mt. in the Shenandoah Valley, just like the song. It's the Blue Ridge Mts. -- and they really do look blue! We are driving to Florida & taking our time, enjoying the view. Brian bought a T-bird & it's a great car. Sorry I haven't written as much as I should have, but I've been so busy. I already wrote you about my mom getting married to Ron. Enough said. I'll try to send a postcard whenever I can & to M. too. I know I'll see you all outside v. v. soon! Love, Justin."  
  
Emmy handed Barbie the postcard to look at. "That's so pretty!" she said. "Are you gonna tape it up on the wall?"  
  
"Of course," said Em. "And all the others Justin sends me. I hope when Justin and Brian get to Florida they send me a great big postcard of a pink flamingo! I'd love one of those."  
  
Barbie frowned. "Why would they send you a picture of a plastic bird?"  
  
"Not a lawn ornament, dummy!" Michelle said in exasperation. "A REAL flamingo! Like they have down in Florida!"  
  
Barbie's eyes grew large. "You mean those things are real? Those funny pink birds? I thought they were fake!"  
  
"Jesus!" moaned Michelle. "I have to get the hell out of here! Soon!"  
  
"Well," huffed Barbie. "They don't have any birds that look like that in Scranton! How am I supposed to know they're for real?"  
  
"If you had half a brain, you would!" Michelle settled herself back onto her bunk and turned away from the other two queens. "Now, if you'll excuse me -- I want to finish my nap!"  
  
"Come on, sweetie," said Emmy, taking Barbie by the arm. "Don't mind Michelle. Let's find Jackie and Lou Lou. They'll want to see my postcard and hear what Justin has to say."  
  
"I wish I was outside," said Barbie, as they walked down the tier. "In a T-bird! That's a cool car! I'd drive and drive and drive! If I knew how to drive, that is."  
  
"Don't worry, honey," said Emmy. "You'll find someone to drive you. We both will." Em looked at the picture of the mountain on her postcard. All that space. All that sky. All that freedom. "When we get out."  
  



	16. Chapter 16

Pittsburgh, July 1979  
  
  
Ron looked up from his paperwork to see his wife, Jennifer, standing in the doorway of his office.  
  
"What are you doing downtown, my dear?" he asked, standing up and walking over to her. "I thought you told me that you were going shopping out at the mall in Monroeville?"  
  
Jennifer hesitated in the doorway. She knew that Ron didn't like her showing up at the Prisoners' Legal Defense office unannounced. "Work is work and home is home," he often reminded her. "I'm very busy with important legal matters and interrupting me during the day only throws me off track."  
  
But Ron took her hand and led her into the office. He was just about to go to lunch, so Jennifer's appearance, while surprising, wasn't completely unwelcome. He felt his dick stir slightly. Perhaps there might be time for some lunch hour recreation. He needed some release right now. The stress of running the PLD was beginning to get to him.  
  
And the truth was that Ron had been feeling completely unsettled for the past week.  
  
It was because Brian was gone. Out on the road somewhere with his stepson, Justin -- Ron had to pinch himself every time he thought about that little punk Justin being his stepson! -- and well out of reach.  
  
He wished he'd never approved that damned trip. He needed Brian to be in town and available, especially now that the publication of his book was fast approaching. Ron had begun to field calls from newspapers, magazines, and even television talk shows, all wanting material about 'The Quad: A Prisoner's Story.' The strong buzz that the 'New Yorker' excerpts had generated the previous December seemed to be magnifying now that the actual book was imminent.  
  
"I had a doctor's appointment not far from here, so I thought I'd stop by," said Jennifer, almost afraid to meet her new husband's eyes.  
  
Ron frowned. "You didn't say anything this morning about having a doctor's appointment today."  
  
"I... I wanted to wait and hear what he had to tell me before I said anything to you," Jennifer said. Then she swallowed hard, as if holding back her emotions.  
  
Now Ron was alarmed. Jennifer had been under the weather lately, complaining of a queasy stomach, being tired, and a number of other general, but annoying symptoms. Ron had chalked it up either to the oppressive July heat or else typical female hypochondria. But if things were serious enough for her to see a doctor, that changed the picture entirely.  
  
"Jenn, what doctor?" asked Ron, his voice rising. "What's the matter?"  
  
"At first I wasn't certain," Jennifer replied. "But then the doctor confirmed it."  
  
This was fucking infuriating! Why didn't she get to the point?  
  
"Confirmed WHAT?" Ron barked.  
  
"I'm pregnant!" Jennifer cried. Then she threw herself into her husband's arms and burst into tears.  
  
Shit, thought Ron.  
  
He wasn't sure what to do or say. He wasn't even certain he had heard her correctly. Surely she must be mistaken! Jenn was 38 years old -- almost 39. She already had a 20 year old son and a 10 year old daughter. They had only been married for two months. And what about birth control? Ron knew that Jennifer had been using a diaphragm when they first began meeting at the Liberty Motel and he had supposed that she was still using it. Those were details they didn't really discuss. Ron just assumed that those female things would be taken care of out of his sight.  
  
But obviously they hadn't been. Or else something had gone wrong.  
  
"Are you sure?" Ron asked. "I mean -- there might be some mistake."  
  
"No," said Jennifer, taking a handful of Kleenex out of her bag. "There's no mistake. I'm due right after the first of the year. Isn't it wonderful?" And then she began crying again.  
  
Now Ron was totally confused. Was Jenn happy or upset about this turn of events? Who the hell could tell when she wouldn't stop crying!  
  
"Sit down, my dear," Ron said, easing her into a chair. "Do you want something to drink? Some coffee? What about a Valium? That'll calm your nerves."  
  
"No, thanks, honey," sniffed Jennifer. "No more Valium. And the doctor said he'd prefer that I cut out coffee. It might affect the baby."  
  
"Affect the baby?" said Ron. "What do you mean? Affect it how?"  
  
"It's development," Jennifer explained. "Dr. Gibbons says no caffeine, no alcohol, and no pills. And he says that you should quit smoking, too."  
  
Ron snorted. "I've never heard such bullshit in my life! Jane smoked and had a cup of coffee every morning and a cocktail every afternoon and Max and Hannah are both on the Honor Roll at their respective colleges. These goddamn doctors think they're fucking gods. It's ridiculous, Jenn!"  
  
Ron thought about the Hell he'd been put through by the medical staff at the hospital where they'd sent Brian after he'd been stabbed. They'd been such bastards! Especially that fucking Dr. Caputo!  
  
Jennifer shrugged. She'd done all those things -- smoking, drinking, taking her sleeping pills -- when she'd been expecting Justin and Molly and they had turned out fine, too. Better than fine, in fact! But she trusted her doctor and she was planning to follow his instructions to the letter. After all, she was a tad older than most expectant mothers and she didn't want anything to go wrong. And things had changed so much since she'd had Justin back in 1958. She had just turned 19 when she'd given birth to her son and barely knew what was happening to her. They had knocked her out and when she woke up she had a baby.  
  
But things would be different with this child. Dr. Gibbons had suggested Lamaze classes. Natural childbirth. Even breast feeding, something she had never even considered with her first two. But the doctor stressed that she must bond with her baby in every way possible. And especially how vital it was for her to experience the birth directly -- and how important it was for her husband to be there, by her side, when it happened. Dr. Gibbons said the experience would bring her and Ron even closer than they already were!  
  
Jennifer blew her nose and sighed. How different it had been with Craig. When she'd gone into labor with Justin Craig had gone out and gotten drunk, only sobering up the next day. And when Molly was born he'd been on a business trip. Yes, he'd cut the trip short to return to her side, but as far as Craig was concerned, giving birth was something women did and that's the way it should stay.  
  
"I'm so happy!" And Jennifer began crying again.  
  
Good God, thought Ron. It must be the hormones. I hope she stops all this caterwauling soon, because I couldn't take this for the next six months.  
  
"Aren't you happy, honey?" Jennifer wept.  
  
"Of course," said Ron, stroking her hand. "I'm ecstatic."  
  
"Are you?" Jennifer hiccupped. "Really?"  
  
"I'm so overcome with joy that I can't contain myself," Ron deadpanned.  
  
But Jennifer never noticed that her new husband seemed less than enthusiastic about her news. She was focused on what was to come. On how to make it perfect.  
  
And on how she was going to break the news to Molly. And to Justin. That they were going to have a little brother or sister.  
  
That now they would be a real family. She and Ron and Justin and Molly and the new baby.  
  
Jennifer frowned.  
  
And Brian, too.  
  
She wasn't sure how Brian fit into all of this, but there he was.  
  
But it would all work out.  
  
Somehow.


	17. Chapter 17

  
North Carolina, July 1979  
  
  
Brian lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. His shoes and socks were off and his jeans were undone. It felt good to relax.  
  
"Should I turn up the air conditioner?" Justin asked, his hand already on the control knob.  
  
"Just a little more," Brian replied lazily. He opened his eyes slowly. "It was a scorcher today."  
  
After riding in the T-Bird for a couple of hours in the blistering sun, taking his ease in a motel room was a welcome relief. Well, maybe not this motel room specifically, thought Brian, glancing around at the peeling paint and ragged curtains. This one wasn't exactly stellar. But it had a bed, a shower, and a television set. And the air conditioning was working, which was all that really mattered on a hot July day in North Carolina.  
  
"I think I'm getting soft," Brian remarked as he watched Justin open his suitcase and take out a fresh tee shirt to replace the sweaty one he'd been wearing all day.  
  
Justin smirked. "You're never soft, Brian. I can vouch for that personally!"  
  
"I don't mean my dick, you little punk!" Brian laughed. "I mean in general. Living the outside life. Getting used to having air conditioning. And a nice big bed. Not to mention all the fucking food I've been eating on this trip." He patted his flat stomach. "Look at the gut on me."  
  
Justin pulled off his tee shirt and stuffed it into a plastic bag he was using to carry their dirty clothes. The bag was bursting at the seams. They needed to find a laundromat soon.  
  
"What gut, Brian?" Justin walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. He ran his hand down Brian's stomach, feeling the firm muscles of his abdomen. Justin tentatively reached into the open jeans, his fingers brushing the tip of Brian's stirring cock. "See what I mean? Never soft!"  
  
He pulled out Brian's cock and stroked it gently. He didn't want it to get completely hard yet. He liked to get it halfway there and then take it into his mouth, feeling it swell to fullness against his tongue and between his lips.  
  
"Shit," Brian sighed. Justin's mouth on his prick was even better than the air conditioning. "Something that feels that good should be illegal!"  
  
Justin paused for a moment. "I think it is, Brian. Especially in this state."  
  
That brought Brian up short. "You're right. I keep forgetting that there are laws against queers, especially down here in Dixie."  
  
"Does that mean you want me to stop blowing you?" Justin raised an eyebrow. His hand was still wrapped firmly around the shaft of Brian's long cock.  
  
"Fuck no!" Brian exclaimed. "If you stop now then I'll have to kick your little punk ass! Screw the redneck bastards and their fucking sodomy laws! Suck away!"  
  
Justin grinned. That's what he wanted to hear. Defiant Brian. Confident Brian. Even Playful Brian. He'd watched his lover begin to unwind as they slowly made their way south through Virginia and now North Carolina. They might have buzzed through these states and been in Florida by now, but they had decided after the first couple of days on the road that they weren't going to hurry.  
  
Instead, they stopped at every tourist trap they saw advertised on a billboard or indicated on their Triple A map. Paused at sleepy mountain towns that looked friendly and pretty. Took tours of a number of large, gaudy planation houses. Spent time walking up steep trails so Justin could take pictures of the Shenandoah Valley with his Kodak Instamatic. Explored battlefields. Went down into Grand Caverns, where Rebel soldiers quartered during the Civil War -- or the War Between the States, as the guide insisted on calling it. Bought postcards at Rock World, Bible Land, the birthplace of Stonewall Jackson, and the Museum of Bedrooms -- which was exactly that, a collection of historic bedrooms. Drove over the Natural Bridge, high in the Blue Ridge Mountains. And ate more fried chicken, ham, okra, grits, and mince pie than they thought their stomachs could ever hold. So far it had been a wonderful trip.  
  
They had stopped at this particular town because Justin saw a large sign proclaiming that it was their Heritage Days Festival, an event which promised lots of food, a parade, games, and -- best of all -- a carnival. Of course, they had to stop. Brian was surprised that the village was hopping with visitors. The better accommodations -- i.e., the nicer motel in town -- had been all booked up, which was why they were stuck in this shabby motel on the edge of the highway, which was run down even by backwoods standards. Well, better than the trailer court they'd passed further up the road. That had offered window fans in lieu of real air conditioning.  
  
Brian felt himself getting close to coming and he gripped the back of Justin's head. His long blond hair felt like silk between his fingers. Justin began moving faster, pumping the shaft of Brian's dick with his fist until he released deep in his mouth.  
  
"Oh, man!" Brian moaned in satisfaction. "That IS too good to be legal!" He grabbed Justin and tumbled him over into his back, kissing him. "I'm going to fuck you until they call the cops!"  
  
"But what about the carnival?" Justin chided. "I want to ride the Ferris Wheel! And the Scrambler!" He paused as his stomach growled loudly. "I'm starving, too."  
  
"You're always starving," Brian pointed out.  
  
"And you're always horny," Justin countered. "We can fuck after we eat and go on a few rides. We'll have much more energy after we have dinner."  
  
"Maybe," Brian considered. "But I want to take a shower first."  
  
"You take a shower," said Justin. He stood up and slipped on the clean tee shirt he'd selected earlier. "I'm going to see if I can find a payphone. I haven't called my mother in two days. She probably thinks we fell off a mountain."  
  
"She probably thinks we're already in Florida -- and got eaten by a big fucking shark!" said Brian, thinking of a movie they'd watched in another motel the night before.  
  
"That was 'Jaws,' Brian. It didn't take place in Florida," Justin reminded him.  
  
"I don't care where the fuck it took place," Brian sniffed. He dropped his jeans on the floor and headed for the bathroom. "There was an ocean and a shark. And when we do get to Florida, I'm going to be watching out for my ass -- and yours!"  
  
While Justin went out to make his call Brian took a long, soothing shower. The bathroom wasn't fancy, but it was clean and there was plenty of water.  
  
When he got out he dried himself off with the small, rough towel the motel provided. He checked himself in the mirror. He hadn't shaved in a couple of days. And he needed a haircut. Justin wasn't the only one whose hair was getting long. He seemed to catch a glimpse of himself when he was much younger. Before prison, when he was a long-haired college boy. Before the lines had begun to form at the corners of his eyes and across his forehead. Before the small scars on his back and the much larger one long his left side.  
  
But those things didn't really bother him. There were more important things to think about. Being free. His book. Having some money in the bank.  
  
And Justin. That was the most important thing of all.  
  
He heard the door of the motel room open.  
  
"Hey, did you get through to your mom?" Brian walked out of the bathroom, rubbing his wet hair with the towel.  
  
Justin was sitting on the bed, his expression troubled.  
  
Brian frowned. "What's the matter? I can tell by your face that something's wrong."  
  
Justin looked up at his lover, his mouth set in a hard line. "That goddamn Ron! Wait until you hear what my mother told me! Because you won't fucking believe it!"  



	18. Chapter 18

  
North Carolina, July 1979  
  
  
"I can't believe it! I can't fucking believe it!" Justin kept repeating as he and Brian walked down the midway at the Arthursburg, North Carolina Heritage Days Festival.  
  
They had already eaten fried chicken and roasted corn at a booth run by the local Baptist church, bought funnel cakes and strawberries at a stand run by the Arthursburg PTA, watched a horseshoe tossing contest, listened to songs sung by the Daughters of the Confederacy, all decked out in hoop shirts and bonnets, and tried -- in vain -- to win a large teddy bear by knocking down some milk bottles.  
  
"Yes, I get it," said Brian, beginning to lose his patience. "You can't believe it. You've been saying that for the past hour."  
  
"But how COULD they, Brian?" Justin's head was still spinning with the news. "Ron and my mother -- having a BABY!"  
  
"That's what happens with married people," Brian replied. "Even my own parents had two kids. Now THAT is something truly horrible to contemplate -- Jack and Joanie having sex."  
  
Justin winced. "Don't put pictures like that in my head! The thought of my mom -- and Ron! Doing... IT! I mean -- gross! Totally GROSS!"  
  
"Then stop thinking about it," Brian suggested. "There's nothing you can do about it now. What's done is done."  
  
"B..but they're so OLD!" Justin stuttered. "My mother is almost 40! And Ron! He's an old man! He's 50 years old! How can they even think about sex at their age?"  
  
Brian was about to point out that Jennifer was less than 10 years older than Brian himself. And that Justin knew very well Ron was still a virile and highly sexed man. Only weeks before he'd been stewing over Ron's continued interest in -- even obsession for -- Brian.  
  
Brian pulled Justin over in front of a stand that was selling cotton candy and caramel apples. "Look at me," Brian demanded. "And listen. Okay?"  
  
Justin stared up into Brian's stern face. "I'm listening," said Justin, sullenly.  
  
"Your mother's life belongs to her. And Ron is going to do what he wants to do. But none of that has anything to do with us. Maybe your mother marrying Ron was a stupid thing to do, but people make mistakes all the time and then have to live with them. And maybe Ron married your mom for all the wrong reasons, but that's not for us to judge," Brian advised. "They made their bed, so to speak, and now they have to lie in it."  
  
"But... but...!" Justin tried to break in.  
  
"No!" said Brian, his voice taking on a low, commanding tone. "We might be on the outside, but I'm still your jock and you're still my punk. So when I say you should forget about something, then forget about it. Get it?"  
  
"Got it," Justin sulked.  
  
But then he grinned. As much as he liked being Brian's equal in their relationship -- and Justin had no doubt that they were equal in every way -- it also gave him a thrill when Brian acted like a tough guy. When he put on his big, bad jocker persona and laid down the law to Justin. Then Brian held his head a little higher. Walked with more of a swagger. And also fucked with more aggression and hunger, like he had when they were still in the Quad. As much as Justin loved the sweet and vulnerable Brian, he had to admit that the hard-edged, slightly dangerous Brian excited the hell out of him.  
  
"All right," Brian took Justin's elbow and steered him down away from the food stand and toward the rides.  
  
Brian had to admit that the festival was fun. Even taking into consideration Justin's freak out over Jennifer's baby news, Brian was still enjoying himself. He remembered a similar carnival at his mother's parish when he'd been small. Food, rides, contests, a raffle -- all things to delight a young and impressionable boy. He'd even won a plastic car at the ring-toss game.  
  
He'd kept that stupid little car for years -- it had been on his shelf when he left for college. Little did he know that he'd never return to that house or his room again. That he'd go directly from his college dorm room to jail and then on to prison at Stanton Correctional. He often wondered what his mother did with all of his things -- his books and records, trophies from Little League, the picture of him in his First Communion suit that his mother had framed and hung over his bed next to a picture of Jesus. Had she tossed all those things into the garbage, hoping to erase any trace of him in the Kinney house? Or was his room still there, untouched, like a small shrine to a childhood that was long dead?  
  
Brian understood why Justin was upset about his mother and Ron. Justin was still close to Jennifer and probably believed that, now that Craig Taylor was out of their lives, he should be the most important man in his mother's life. But Ron had usurped that place. And now another child would take up all of Jennifer's time and attention.  
  
But that's how life was. Things didn't stay the same. You had to adjust and survive. That's the lesson Brian had learned in the Quad. And now Justin had to learn it, too.  
  
"What do you want to go on first?" asked Brian. It was getting dark and the midway was lit up like Christmas. There weren't very many rides and most of what they did have was strictly for small children. But a couple looked interesting. "Tilt-a-Whirl? Scrambler? Ferris Wheel?"  
  
"Anything but the Merry-Go-Round," Justin concluded. "That's for little kids and wimps!"  
  
"Too bad there's no roller coaster," said Brian. He reached behind Justin and squeezed his waist. It was dark enough and the two of them were anonymous enough for him to take the chance at touching his lover in public. As long as it looked like boyish horseplay and not like open affection, Brian found that they could get away with it. "I'd like to hear you scream as we go over the big hill."  
  
"You're evil, Brian," Justin smirked.  
  
"Naw, I'm a good guy." Brian pulled Justin towards the Scrambler. "I think this one should make you scream."  
  
They ended up riding the Scrambler three times, the Octopus twice, and the Tilt-a-Whirl only once. That one made Justin queasy, especially since he'd just finished eating a large chili dog right before they got on.  
  
"I told you that last hot dog would make you sick," said Brian as they stumbled off the ride. "Too much fucking grease!"  
  
"My poor stomach!" moaned Justin. "But it looked so good. And I was hungry!"  
  
Brian rolled his eyes. "No more food! I don't want you puking all night long. And I think for our final ride we should select something a bit more sedate."  
  
"The Merry-Go-Round?" Justin grimaced.  
  
"Nope. Something much better."  
  
Brian guided Justin through the crowd to the Ferris Wheel. It wasn't a very high wheel, but it still dominated the Festival as it rose high above the midway and the center of the town of Arthursburg.  
  
Brian and Justin got into the car and the old carny who strapped them in squinted at them a bit suspiciously. The Ferris Wheel was mainly for parents and small kids and for courting couples who were looking for a few minutes of privacy as they rode high above the throng. But he shrugged and gave the car a push, sending it backwards and up into the air.  
  
"The night looks beautiful from up here, doesn't it?" Justin said. It was dark and no one could see them, so he snuggled closer to Brian.  
  
"Look at that." Brian pointed even higher above them, where the pale moon was approaching fullness.  
  
"I remember that sometimes you could see the moon through the window of our cell," said Justin. "I used to think it was beautiful then, too."  
  
"Because it was outside," Brian offered, wrapping his arm around Justin's shoulder. "You can't put bars around the moon."  
  
"No, you can't," Justin agreed.  
  
"How's your stomach feel?" Brian asked.  
  
"Better now," Justin sighed. He closed his eyes, wishing the ride could last forever. "So much better."  
  
"Good," said Brian. "From now on everything will be better. I promise."  



	19. Chapter 19

  
North Carolina, July 1979  
  
  
When they boys came down from the Ferris Wheel it was getting late and the Festival was starting to wind down. Someone was announcing over a loudspeaker that the parade would begin tomorrow at noon, followed by the Heritage Days Picnic and the crowning of Miss Arthursburg Heritage Days at 3:00.  
  
"You want to come back tomorrow and watch parade and the crowning of the queen?" Brian asked, giving Justin's arm a squeeze.  
  
"Sounds like something Em would really like!" Justin laughed. "How come they never had a contest of the Queen of Stanton Correctional?"  
  
"Because then all the losers would shank the winner and that wouldn't be too pleasant," Brian replied.  
  
"I guess you're right," said Justin, wincing. He wanted to put his arm around Brian's waist or at least take hold of his hand, but he didn't dare. Especially not here in this small Southern town. "Brian?"  
  
"Huh?" Brian turned and smiled at his lover. "Hungry again? One last chance for an Elephant's Ear before the place closes down for the night!"  
  
"No, I'm not hungry!" Justin grinned back at Brian. "I was just wondering something. Wondering if there's any place where we could be ourselves... somewhere where people wouldn't hate us or throw things at us if... If we held hands right now? I mean, outside of the Quad?"  
  
Justin's question took Brian by surprise. He hated to think that Justin believed the only place they might be allowed to show affection openly was prison. Brian tried to think. Tried to conceive of such a place -- on the outside.  
  
"Maybe somewhere in Europe," Brian offered. "Paris? London? Or Italy?"  
  
"But what about this country?" Justin continued. "What about San Francisco?" He remembered men in the Liberty Diner discussing San Francisco as if it were some kind of Mecca for gay men -- a place full of good-looking men who were all out and proud about it.  
  
"San Francisco?" Brian mused. "Maybe. Or Greenwich Village. That's where a lot of people go when they don't fit in with the Establishment. That would include queers. There must be other places, but we don't know about them."  
  
"And Liberty Avenue!" Justin added. "At least for about two blocks." Justin thought about it while they were walking. "That's not a lot, especially when you think about how big the world is."  
  
"Like I said, there must be more," Brian reminded him. "There must be places like Liberty Avenue in most large cities -- a small area where fags can go without getting their heads bashed in. A place where there's a bar or a club. Maybe even a diner with a waitress like Debbie in it."  
  
"No!" Justin guffawed. "There's no one else like Deb. She's one of a kind!"  
  
"You can say that again." Then Brian remembered something he'd read a long ago in the Quad when he'd been taking a correspondence course in Literature. "Hey, there's one other place. Some gay writers live there -- or used to. Tennessee Williams and people like that. Truman Capote, too, I think."  
  
"Oh, yeah?" Justin's ears perked up. "Where's that?"  
  
"New Orleans," said Brian. "The French Quarter. Put that on your list."  
  
"I'm making a list," Justin returned.  
  
Brian stopped on the edge of the midway and turned Justin to face him. The parking lot where they'd left the Thunderbird was just beyond. "Remember that it doesn't matter where we are, or how many other queers are around. It doesn't matter whether we're in the Quad or outside. I'm here and you're here -- together. That's all I need and all I've ever needed. The rest isn't important. It's just stuff. Details."  
  
He wanted to kiss Justin right then -- but he couldn't. Not out in the open. Not in that little town of Arthursburg, North Carolina. But soon they'd be back in their motel room. And there they could do anything they wanted. Behind that locked door.  
  
"Fucking details," Justin whispered. Brian was so close -- and yet out of reach.  
  
"Never forget that, punk," Brian smirked. "Come on. Let's get back to the motel where I can show you what I mean personally."  
  
As they walked across the parking lot they heard a sound in the distance. A dull roar that seemed to be coming closer. Getting louder.  
  
Five Harleys turned into the parking lot and pulled up at the far end where a number of motorcycles were already parked, their owners leaning against them, laughing and drinking beer. The arriving bikers revved their engines in greeting.  
  
"Fucking low-riders," Brian said under his breath.  
  
Justin grabbed Brian's hand and held on to it tightly. "What are they doing here?"  
  
"Who knows?" said Brian. "Looking for trouble, probably."  
  
"Please -- let's get out of here!" Justin pleaded.  
  
"We are," Brian replied. "Just ignore them. Pretend they aren't even there."  
  
"I'll try," whispered Justin.  
  
Brian had had many years to learn to ignore the low riders in Stanton. Or at least to learn how to pretend to ignore them. He thought about the times when he'd had to stand in line in the Dining Hall on inches away from Cisco or one of his road dogs and pretend that they hadn't raped and beaten him, burned him with cigarettes, and shot him up with drugs. To learn to keep his hands from shaking when they brushed against him, or keep the tears from falling when they mumbled obscenities into his ear when Ron was looking the other way. But Justin had never had to learn that lesson, thank God. Brian had, for the most part, shielded him from having to deal with Hoss and his gang. And after Brian was stabbed, the low-riders were a spent force and no real threat to either of them.  
  
But now they were outside. The open road was a place for the two of them to try out their freedom. But it was also a place where predators roamed free. A place where the low-riders were more than just a bad memory.  
  
The bikers were making a lot of noise but that was about all, Brian noted. A sheriff's patrol car was parked just outside the entrance to the parking lot, quietly watching. Brian imagined that if there was any real trouble, the local sheriff and the North Carolina Highway Patrol would be down on the low-riders before things got out of hand. But that didn't negate their presence. Or the aura of evil they exuded.  
  
Or the anxiety that Justin was telegraphing with every breath he took.  
  
"Hey, honey! Over here!" one of the bikers called to a pair of teenage girls who were hurrying through the parking lot. Brian tensed, waiting to see what would happen. Waiting to come to the girls' aid if it was necessary. But the girls got into their car and the bikers only laughed, watching them drive away.  
  
"They aren't interested in us, Justin," Brian said softly. "This isn't the Quad. Unless they're looking to pick a fight, a couple of guys aren't even on their radar screen."  
  
Brian and Justin walked briskly, purposefully, past the bikers, who only glanced at them.  
  
Brian's right, thought Justin. They're looking for women to harass, not us. But that didn't put his mind as ease.  
  
They reached the T-Bird and got in. Brian started the car and backed it up, carefully skirting the corner of the lot where the bikers were parked. In a moment they were on the road to the motel.  
  
"Shit," Justin swallowed. "Why did they have to come here? It was such a great day. Everything was going so perfectly -- until then!"  
  
"You always have to be ready," said Brian. "The fucking world is full of things you don't expect, waiting to catch you off guard. Remember what I told you about never letting them see you cry?"  
  
"But that was inside!" Justin cried. "That was the Quad! But this is... this is the real world!"  
  
"The Quad is the real world, too," Brian stated quietly. He pulled the T-Bird into the parking lot of the motel and stopped in front of their room.  
  
"Isn't there anywhere safe, Brian?" Justin felt hot tears spilling over. "There must be some place!"  
  
"Baraka used to say that the only place a man was really safe was in the grave." Brian pulled Justin into his arms and held him close. "But it's not worth dying just to be safe, is it?"  
  
"No," Justin whispered. "It's not worth dying."  
  
"Good," Brian murmured. "Then say 'fuck you' to the low-riders, even if only in your own head. Because they can't get you, Justin. And they can't get me. No one can get us. We won't let them. We're running too fast. Like those golden horses in our dream."  
  
"Yes." Justin closed his eyes. He could almost see that green valley and the two horses, running in tandem. "Like in our dream. One day."  



	20. Chapter 20

  
Atlanta, Georgia, July 1979  
  
  
Instead of staying in Arthursburg for the final day of the Heritage Days Festival, Brian and Justin got up very early, packed the T-Bird, and hit the road before dawn, heading south for Atlanta.  
  
The Atlanta of Brian's imagination was the Atlanta of the Civil War. Of 'Gone with the Wind.' An old, wooden city from another era -- a bit rough around the edges, but still gracious. A slow-moving place. A place to take a break before they moved on to Florida.  
  
The reality of Atlanta was like a slap in the face.  
  
What Brian and Justin found instead was a noisy, burgeoning metropolis circled by a mind-numbing ring of four-lane highways. Brian drove the T-Bird in circles, looking for the center of the city. Searching for anything that looked like the Atlanta in his head. But that city no longer existed -- if it ever had.  
  
"Let's just get off this freeway and find a place to stay," Justin suggested. He was hot, tired, and starving. All he wanted at this point was to get out of this hellish traffic, take a cool shower, and then look for something to eat.  
  
Brian nodded and turned off at the next exit. It wasn't a neighborhood at all, but a knot of filling stations, fast food restaurants, and chain motels identical to dozens that Brian and Justin had passed at every exit since they left Pittsburgh.  
  
The boys checked into a Holiday Inn, which was a step up from the no-name motels they'd been frequenting in Virginia and the Carolinas. The place was brightly lit and wall-to-wall plastic and particle board, except for the sturdy double bed in the middle of their otherwise nondescript room.  
  
Justin hoisted his heavy leather suitcase onto the bed. A painting of an anti-bellum mansion with white columns hung over it. Justin scrutinized it and made a face. "Some lousy painting! Looks like something I made with my Paint-By-Numbers kit when I was 12!"  
  
Brian shrugged. "You didn't expect an art museum, did you, Sunshine?" He put his bag on a ledge next to desk/dresser. Everything was either built directly into the wall or bolted to it, as if the management was afraid the guests were planning to leave with the furniture. "There's a bed, a bathroom, a television, and an air conditioner, just like all the other joints we've been in. The only difference is that it's cleaner and more expensive. I thought I'd choke when the guy at the front desk said a double room was 30 bucks a night! Jesus! The last place we stayed in was $12!"  
  
"It was cheap all right," Justin added. "And you could hear the cockroaches coming out of the walls all night long!"  
  
"Oh, is that what that thing on your neck is?" Brian came up behind Justin and ran his finger over a bright red mark under his lover's jawline. "A cockroach bite?"  
  
"Yeah," Justin breathed. "Made last night by a very big cockroach. About 6 foot 3 with a 9-inch dick!"  
  
"Hmm -- interesting. I wonder if there are any of those big cockroaches in Atlanta?" Brian smiled. "Maybe you could coax one out of its hiding place?"  
  
"If there weren't any in Atlanta before, then there are now." Justin turned around and slid his hands down Brian's slender body. "This looks likes somewhere a big cock -- I mean a big COCKROACH -- might be lurking." Justin unbuttoned the top of Brian's jeans and eased the zipper down. "I think I found something."  
  
"You better take care of that, kid," Brian whispered. "Wouldn't want it to get away."  
  
"Oh, I won't let it get away," Justin assured him. "I'll never let this get away. Because it's mine -- and no one else's!"  
  
Brian closed his eyes as he felt Justin's lips wrap themselves around the head of his prick. When he was in Stanton he had always been able to lose himself in sex. It was one of the few pleasures available to him within the cold, grey walls of the Quad.  
  
But this was not simply about pleasure. It wasn't only a physical connection. Having sex with Justin made him feel whole. Made him feel human. He was no longer a punk or a jock. No longer merely a con or an inmate, a nameless, faceless number. He was a man. Justin had given that back to him after so many years.  
  
He touched Justin's head gently. "Let's lie down."  
  
Brian dumped Justin's big suitcase onto the floor. Then he pulled his jeans off and removed his tee shirt while Justin also undressed quickly and flopped down on the bed.  
  
"That air conditioning feels good," Justin sighed. He rubbed his arm where the skin was peeling from his sunburn. "I thought it was hot before, but this city is stifling."  
  
"Everyone warned us not to drive south in the middle of July," Brian laughed, stretching out next to him. "But we didn't listen."  
  
"Next time we'll come back in the winter. And we'll fly -- First Class!" Justin said. "I mean, when you're a millionaire from all the money you're going to make from your book!"  
  
Brian snorted. "Sure! A millionaire! In your dreams, Sunshine!"  
  
But that was the thing -- Justin had big dreams. And he thought Brian could do anything. Anything. Sometimes that scared him. He'd never had anyone trust him like that before. Believe in him like that. But that's what happened when you became a jocker. You had to step up to the plate. Be the man your punk needed you to be. In order to protect him. To keep him safe -- always. Brian hoped he could always be that man for Justin. That he'd never falter when it came down to fucking brass tacks.  
  
Brian hated to admit that the incident with the bikers at the festival had thrown him. But after a minor freak out, Justin seemed okay. But it reminded Brian that he could never let his guard down for an instant. He always needed to be aware of the dangers of this strange, new world. The outside.  
  
"I'm glad we're here, heat or no heat." Justin yawned and pressed his cool, pale body against Brian. "Just the two of us." He trailed his hand down Brian's chest languidly.  
  
"I thought you were so hungry," Brian said. "While we were driving that's all you could talk about -- dinner! When are we going to stop? Where are we going to eat? Blah blah blah! But now you seem to have something else on your mind." Brian stroked his cock slowly.  
  
"Man cannot live by fast food alone," Justin replied. His fingers softly traced the red scar that snaked down Brian's left side. "Remember when we'd lie together in the bunk, waiting for the C.O.'s to rack the doors so we could go down to the Dining Hall? Seems like it was a hundred years ago. A whole other life."  
  
"It WAS another life," Brian murmured, pulling Justin into his arms "Forget about the past, kid. There are no bars on those doors. Nobody to tell us what to do or where to go. Not Warden Horvath. Not the C.O.'s. Not Ron. Not even your mom!"  
  
"But what about...?" Justin began.  
  
"No," Brian commanded. "No more fucking talk! Get that lube Deb gave us. Not the Vaseline, but the good stuff."  
  
Justin grinned. He climbed off the bed, rummaged through his suitcase, and returned with the lubricant. Brian reached for the tube, but Justin held it back. "I'll do it! Half the fun is playing with your dick!"  
  
"Then go to it." Brian lay back against the pillows as Justin applied the gel to Brian's cock and then to his own ass. "Too bad there's no Magic Fingers at this motel."  
  
Justin rolled his eyes. "You're killing me, Brian!"  
  
"Not yet I'm not."  
  
"Then fuck me! Now!"  
  
Brian rolled Justin over onto his back and raised his legs up to his shoulders. He guided his cock between Justin's legs and slipped the tip into the moistened, quivering hole.  
  
For Brian there was always a moment of hesitation. Of uncertainty. When Justin's ass tensed. Flinched. That second right before Brian's cock went sliding in, finding its home. Then all his misgivings disappeared. When he felt himself inside of his kid. His punk. His lover. And when he saw Justin's face. Saw the relief there. The passion. And the love.  
  
"Do you know how much I fucking love you?" Brian whispered.  
  
"Yes," Justin groaned. It felt like there was a broomstick up his ass, but he never wanted it to leave. Never wanted to be empty again. "And I love you. Does anything else matter?"  
  
"No," said Brian, thrusting deeply. And then again, deeper still. "Nothing else. Nothing."  
  



	21. Chapter 21

Atlanta, Georgia, July 1979  
  
  
"What the fuck kind of a place is this anyway?" asked Brian in exasperation.  
  
Brian and Justin had been walking around the mammoth Peachtree Center in downtown Atlanta for about an hour, staring at the over-the-top decor, being jostled by shoppers, and looking for a quiet place to eat.  
  
"It's a mall," Justin said firmly. "Sort of."  
  
"I thought malls were just big shopping centers?" said Brian. "Since when do they have waterfalls? Or squawking parrots in cages? Or hanging gardens? What is this supposed to be? Babylon?"  
  
Justin laughed. "If it was, then I think we'd see a lot more queers!"  
  
Brian sniffed. The place was giving him a gigantic headache. "That clothing store we were just in didn't seem to be lacking in the fag quotient. That one guy couldn't keep his fucking hands off my dick in the dressing room!"  
  
"He was admiring the scenery!" Justin smirked. "And he gave you a nice discount on those designer jeans."  
  
"That's another thing," said Brian. "$30 bucks for one pair of jeans? It's ridiculous! I think I'm paying for all the water they're wasting on the waterfalls, not to mention all the parrot food."  
  
"You have plenty of money in the bank," Justin pointed out. "So why not spend a little of it on yourself? You deserve it!"  
  
"But if my book tanks, we might have to live on that money until I can find a job," said Brian, expressing the fear that was constantly nagging at him. "That is, if I can find someone who'll hire a guy with no college degree and 10 years of prison time behind him." Yeah, thought Brian, someone who ISN'T Ron. The last thing he planned to do was to go to work for his former jock.  
  
"It's not going to tank!" Justin declared. "And those jeans look great on you!" His eyes strayed to his lover's ass as they walked through the Food Court. "That's not really a lot to spend on a good pair of designer jeans, Brian. They're Calvin Kleins."  
  
"Calvin Klein! Who the fuck is Calvin Klein?" Brian griped. "And why should his name be on my ass? It's crazy that people would pay all that money just to advertise some guy's name. HE should be paying ME to wear this shit!"  
  
"Come on," Justin teased. "It's fun to shop in this place! You're having a good time. Admit it, Brian. And it's fun to be in a big city like this after all those small towns we've been staying in."  
  
"It's okay," Brian conceded grudgingly.  
  
Atlanta was a lot bigger and much more intimidating than Pittsburgh. That made Brian nervous. All of these strangers. Too many unknown faces. Too much traffic, too much noise.  
  
But Justin was right -- it was exciting to be in a city like this. While Pittsburgh was old and worn and dark, Atlanta was full of new, shiny buildings and new, shiny people. It seemed a city that was looking forward instead of brooding over a lost, decaying past. The whole place seemed to be shouting, "Get moving! It's almost the Eighties!"  
  
And the people were friendly. Brian liked their drawling voices and easy smiles. They reminded him of Em back in the Quad. He wondered how far Hazelhurst, Mississippi was from Atlanta.  
  
"This is too noisy," Brian said flatly as he glanced around the teeming Food Court. "Maybe your cast-iron stomach can digest your lunch here, but I'd like a little peace and quiet."  
  
"Excuse me," Justin said to a burly security guard leaning against a pillar. "Can you suggest a less hectic place to eat in here? Or somewhere nearby?"  
  
"Sure," said the guard, narrowing his eyes at Justin. "You boys from out of town?"  
  
"From Pittsburgh," Justin replied tentatively, remembering that Brian hated it when Justin offered what he considered too much information.  
  
"Then you boys will be wanting some good Atlanta home-cooking." The guard directed them towards one of the long concourses to a cafe in a quieter corner of the Peachtree Center. "Go all the way to the end. Ruby's is on the left. Ask for Rowley and tell him that Bubba sent you down. Y'all enjoy yourselves, ya hear?"  
  
"Thank you, sir," said Brian, nudging Justin along. Even a harmless security guard in a khaki uniform reminded him a little too much of the C.O.'s in Stanton.  
  
Ruby's Restaurant was an oasis from the bustle of the Peachtree Center. Both men ordered the $5 lunch special -- a huge plate of pork barbecue, collard greens, mashed potatoes, and cornbread, with a slice of peach pie for dessert.  
  
And Rowley turned out to be a whip-thin queen with platinum blond hair and a flirtatious manner who seemed delighted with his Yankee visitors.  
  
"How do you like them greens, Sugar?" Rowley asked Brian as he refilled his glass of Coca Cola. "Bet you don't get fine food like this up North!"  
  
"Very good," Brian acknowledged. "But this is an awful lot of food just for lunch. If I ate like this every day I wouldn't be able to fit through the door to leave the house!"  
  
Rowley laughed. He was eyeing Brian's muscular arms in his sleeveless denim shirt. This was quite a tasty hunk of man! And his little blond boyfriend was cute, too. "In Atlanta we like to eat well, but we also work hard. And we play hard, too. You gentlemen down here for a little fun and games?"  
  
"We're on our way to Florida," said Justin, digging in to his peach pie. "We're on vacation."  
  
"Honey, I LOVE Florida!" Rowley squealed. "Fort Lauderdale and Miami are all right, but they're too full of old men lookin' for young chicken. I like Key West the best. You thinkin' about goin' down Key West way?"  
  
"Haven't decided yet," Brian said shortly as he pushed back his empty plate. He had to admit that the food at Ruby's was good. And there was plenty of it for the money. "Is the house where Hemingway lived still there? Can you go inside it?"  
  
"I don't know about this Hemingway person, Sugar," said Rowley. "But there are an awful lot of fine men down in Key West."  
  
"He was a writer," Brian sighed. "He wrote 'For Whom the Bell Tolls.' And he lived in Key West."  
  
"Does he hang out in the bars? At Delmonico's? Or the Monster?" Rowley asked. "Half the gentlemen in Key West claim to be writers, but I wouldn't know about that. I'm too busy to read anything but 'The National Enquirer' and 'Movie Screen'!"  
  
It was all Justin could do to keep himself from laughing out loud at the way the skinny queen was playing up to Brian. And Rowley reminded him so much of Em and the queens in the Quad that it almost made him homesick.  
  
"Do you know any fun places to go in Atlanta?" Justin piped up. "I mean, dance clubs? Or... other places?" It was obvious that Rowley had known they were gay from the minute they walked in the door of Ruby's, but Justin was still hesitant to ask a stranger outright where the gay bars were located -- especially in a Southern city.  
  
"Justin..." Brian warned.  
  
"I'm only asking," Justin replied innocently.  
  
"And there's no harm in askin', Honey!" said Rowley. "Folks in this town are friendly -- especially in helpin' out a couple of, um, 'lively' gentlemen like yourselves."  
  
In many places it was still taboo to say 'gay,' let alone 'queer,' in public. So men used other code words to identify themselves. Lively. Flamboyant. Gifted. Interesting. "Do you know so-and-so?" one queen would say to another. "Do you think he's 'interesting'?" And as utterly 'flamboyant' as Rowley appeared, certain habits died hard, even in easy-going Atlanta.  
  
Rowley totaled up the lunch check and placed it on the table. "I hope y'all come back and see us again," he said. "And this is for you, Honey." He winked as he slipped Justin a piece of pink paper, folded in half. Then he headed over to another table to take their order.  
  
Brian frowned, a finger of jealousy poking him in the gut. "What did he give you?"  
  
Justin opened the paper. Then he grinned broadly. "Rowley's invited us to a party tonight. At a place called Illusions. It's a free pass for two. To see, according to this flyer, 'The Lovely Ladies of Atlanta In Person On Stage.'"  
  
"Lovely Ladies?" said Brian. It sounded like a strip club. "What the fuck, Justin?"  
  
"We're definitely going!" said Justin. "To 'The South's Premiere Drag Show'!"  
  
"Drag show?" Brian groaned. "Oh, shit!"  



	22. Chapter 22

  
Author's notes: The Boys in Atlanta --  


* * *

  
Atlanta, Georgia, July 1979  
  
  
Illusions was down an alley off a side street in a dark and trash-strewn section of Atlanta that was as far removed from the extravagant Peachtree Center as the Quad was from Pittsburgh's tony Sewickley Heights.  
  
"I hope it's safe to leave my car here," Brian fretted as he parked the T-Bird under a streetlight on the nearest main street.  
  
"It should be okay," Justin reassured him. "I just saw a police car go by."  
  
"Cops are probably trolling for fags," Brian mumbled. "It would be just our luck to get snagged in a raid in a dive like this!"  
  
"They don't raid gay bars anymore, Brian," said Justin. "That was a long time ago!"  
  
"Not that long," Brian replied. "And this may be Hot-Lanta, but it's still the South. Things don't change that much, kid. Being a queer is still illegal in most states. Who knows how the local bulls feel about guys dressing up in women's clothes?"  
  
"It's going to be fun!" Justin said. "This is the first time since we've left Pittsburgh that we'll be around some other gay men... and 'ladies'! I can hardly wait to write to Emmy about what they wore."  
  
"You're going to make all the queens on the third tier jealous," Brian said. Then he smiled thinking about the reaction of Em and Michelle and Barbie to the news that he and Justin had gone to a real drag bar.  
  
Brian didn't want to admit it to Justin, but he was actually looking forward to being surrounded by a bunch of queens, at least for one night. For most of his time in Stanton, Brian had found a refuge with the queens of the Quad. Not allowed to speak to any jocker except his own jock, Ron, and shunned by the most of the other punks because of his former connection with the despised low-riders, Brian found friendship among the queens. He was no threat to their relationships with their men, but he was also no competition to their perceived femininity -- he was a sister who didn't look like a sister. And he was such a pretty, sweet boy, especially when he was young. Brian remembered when the queens were the ones who had petted him, praised him, and dried his tears. It was ironic that a group of misfit men wearing cast-off finery had been more compassionate to an abused and frightened boy than his own mother.  
  
At the end of the long alley a small neon sign blinked over a dark metal door. "Illusions" it read, with one of the l's burned out. Justin showed the man at the door, a slim, hard-faced redhead with traces of black liner around his eyes, the flyer Rowley had given him. The bouncer, a light-skinned, muscular black man with a shaved head who standing silently behind the ticket-taker, looked the two outsiders up and down suspiciously. Then he nodded. The metal door opened and they were in.  
  
Inside Illusions it was dark, loud, smokey, and steamingly hot. The men were packed tightly into the cramped space, many of them gyrating on the tiny dance floor to a pounding bass beat. The only real lights were strings of Christmas lights over the bar and the multi-colored spotlights pointed at the stage on the far side of the room.  
  
Brian and Justin made their way to the bar and ordered two bottles of the house beer. And then they saw a familiar face approaching through the crush of sweating men. But it wasn't the face they had been expecting.  
  
"Hey boys," said Bubba, the security guard from the Peachtree Center. Instead of his khaki uniform, he was dressed in jeans and a black tee shirt with an Elton John 'Goodbye Yellow Brick Road' logo emblazoned across the front. "I wondered if y'all would show up tonight."  
  
"How did you know we'd be here?" asked Justin, trying not to stare. He had thought that Bubba was a typical Georgia redneck, but seeing him in a drag club exploded all of Justin's expectations.  
  
"Rowley told me he gave y'all a flyer for the show," said Bubba, ordering a beer for himself and taking a long swig. "Ah! That hits the damn spot!" He grinned at Justin. "What you gaping at, Honey? Catching flies with your pretty little tongue?"  
  
"I'm just surprised to see you here," Justin replied. "And that you're friends with a guy like... well, like Rowley."  
  
"I sent y'all over to him at Ruby's, didn't I?" Bubba chortled. "Course I know Rowley! I oughta know him. He's my lover, after all. Has been for the past six years."  
  
"Oh," said Justin, feeling more than a little embarrassed.  
  
But Brian laughed loudly. It was like being back in the Quad where the biggest, toughest jocks were paired with the most flamboyant queens. "I'd buy you a drink, but you already have one."  
  
Bubba drained his bottle. "I'm ready for another, brother. And make it a Miller Hi-Life this time. None of that swill they brew up in Decatur for three cents a bucket!"  
  
"So," said Brian. "This is the scene in Atlanta."  
  
"If you like drag, Hot-Lanta is where it's at," Bubba admitted. "They got a few decent places in Savannah and down on the Gulf Coast, but if you like the ladies, this is the best spot between Nashville and Miami, except maybe New Orleans and that's a whole 'nother story. Illusions ain't as big as the Locker Room or Poodles, but it's friendly." Bubba indicated the teeming dance floor. He raised his voice to be heard above the blasting disco music. "And busy, too! You should be here on Saturday when they have Pageant Night. The ladies come in from all over Georgia -- and even Alabama and Arkansas!"  
  
"Where's Rowley?" asked Justin, craning his neck to look around.  
  
"He's here, Honey," Bubba smiled. "You should be seeing him any minute." The lights on the stage began to flicker. "In fact, I think you're gonna see him right now!"  
  
Brian and Justin turned to look at the stage. The heavy green velvet curtains parted and out stepped a slender figure in a long, beaded white evening gown. Her platinum hair was piled high on her head and crowned with a glittering tiara. She looked every inch a true queen.  
  
She took the microphone off the stand and purred into it, "Friends, Romans, and Countrymen! Lend me your cocks! I know I'm supposed to ask y'all to lend me your ears, but, Hell! I like what I like and ears ain't it!" She paused for the laughter, making a small courtesy of acknowledgement. "Welcome to Illusions, where all your dreams come true! We have the loveliest ladies in all the South Land right here to entice and entertain you! And I, as always, am your Hostess with the Mostess -- Miss Chantilly Lace!"  
  
"Oh my God!" cried Justin. "Is THAT Rowley?"  
  
"Course it is, Honey," Bubba said with pride. "My Chantilly -- Miss Gay Atlanta 1979!"  
  
"I should have guessed!" Brian laughed, putting his arm around Justin's shoulder and pulling him closer. "I think we are about to see quite a show!"  



	23. Chapter 23

  
Author's notes: On with the show -- the drag show, that is!  


* * *

  
Atlanta, Georgia, July 1979  
  
  
Brian and Justin stared at the Illusions stage -- and at Rowley, their waiter from that afternoon, dressed in full evening gown drag, tiara included.  
  
"Wow!" Justin marvelled. "He looks exactly like a real woman!"  
  
"Not a woman," Bubba corrected. "A lady. That's a distinction we make clearly down here in Georgia."  
  
"I hope all of you gentlemen -- and whatever else we have here on this fine July evening -- will enjoy our little entertainment," Miss Chantilly proclaimed from the stage. "In honor of the hottest summer in a long time here in HOT-lanta, we call our show 'Georgia Peaches of 1979'! So, without further ado -- on with the show!"  
  
Miss Chantilly stepped back and began singing 'A Pretty Girl Is Like a Melody' in a low, sexy contralto. The green velvet curtains opened wide to reveal a glittering golden set with a staircase in the center. Walking down those stairs, like showgirls in the 'Ziegfeld Follies,' was the most mind-boggling array of drag queens that Justin had ever seen. Some were in full drag as their favorite divas -- Judy, Barbra, Bette, and Diana were all accounted for, as well a couple others Justin couldn't identify. One petite queen was dressed as Scarlett O'Hara, her green sprigged muslin dress, picture hat, and parasol perfect in every detail, her waist cinched smaller than Justin could have imagined possible for any man. Scarlett bowed demurely, basking in the appreciation of the hometown crowd. The final two queens -- one Black, one white -- who strutted down the stairs were almost naked, wearing nothing but tiny sequined g-strings, jeweled bras, and masses of feathers.  
  
Justin strained his eyes to see better. "Brian?"  
  
"What?" Brian whispered back. He was also gaping at the stage in amazement. He literally had never dreamed a place like this existed on the outside.  
  
"Where are their dicks?" asked Justin, indicating the two showgirls. "I don't even see the hint of a bulge! How do they do that?"  
  
"Ah... um," Brian stammered. "Trade secret, I imagine." He had been wondering the same thing himself. For a moment he suspected that they were ringers -- real women only masquerading as drag queens. But then he realized how tall the two queens were. With their huge platform shoes and feathered headpieces they looked close to seven feet tall! Those were certainly NOT females!  
  
"They gaff 'em, Honey," Bubba said in amusement. "Pull their business back between their legs, shove it between their cheeks, and tape it into place. They could take off that old g-string and it would look just like pussy -- or close enough to fool a room full of fags!"  
  
"Tape back their dicks? Wouldn't that hurt?" Justin gulped. His balls began to ache even thinking about it.  
  
"You'll have to ask 'em after the show," said Bubba. "That's Sugarplum on the left and Hot Chocolate on the right. They may be white and colored, but they're sisters in every way. They live together and you never see one of 'em without the other, on or off stage."  
  
"Like a couple?" Justin frowned. "I mean... are they lovers?"  
  
"Lovers?" Bubba hooted. "I told you they was sisters, Honey! Sisters don't rub up against each other! What you think they are, boy? Dykes? Those ladies like REAL men." Bubba puffed up his chest and winked at Brian. "Like me and Chantilly. Queens want a man who is all man. Ain't that right, brother?"  
  
"That's the way it was in the Quad," Brian admitted, speaking before thinking.  
  
"What's the Quad?" Bubba questioned. "Something up North?"  
  
Brian hesitated for a moment. But if anyone would understand, it seemed to be this queer redneck. "Prison," he said shortly. "Stanton Correctional in Pennsylvania. Medium security facility."  
  
"You were in stir?" Bubba shook his head in disbelief. "Don't seem the type."  
  
"There are all types in prison," Brian commented. "Including some who shouldn't be there." His eyes moved to Justin, whose attention was riveted on the stage.  
  
"What was the child in for?" Bubba asked quietly. These two Yankee boys were turning about to be very interesting -- and full of surprises.  
  
"Drug charge," Brian confided. "Weed he bought for a high school graduation party. He got 5, but only served a year -- thank God!"  
  
"That's harsh," Bubba muttered. "And you, brother?"  
  
"Various things," Brian answered vaguely. "I did 10 years. Got out last spring."  
  
"Ouch," Bubba winced. "I got a brother doing 15 to 20 in Angola down Louisiana way. Manslaughter. Blew away the son of a bitch who was doing dirty with his wife. But you know what they say -- 'Don't do the crime if you can't do the time!'"  
  
"What crime?" Justin turned around, his eyes wide with concern. "Brian?"  
  
"Nothing, kid." Brian wrapped his arm around Justin's neck and brushed his lips against his hair.  
  
"Is everything okay?" Justin closed his eyes and leaned back against his lover.  
  
"It's fine," said Brian. "This is a safe place. So relax. And watch the show."  
  



	24. Chapter 24

  
Atlanta, Georgia, July 1979  
  
  
Justin's eyes were wide as he watched the drag show at Illusions. He'd seen drag queens before -- some of his best friends in the Quad were the queens like Em and Barbie. And he'd seen queens come into the diner, but rarely in full drag -- that was too dangerous, especially in a working class city like Pittsburgh. So it was amazing to find them here, deep in the heart of the South.  
  
"I can't believe the cops let this happen!" he exclaimed to Bubba.  
  
But the burly security guard only laughed. "They used to shut us down every week back in the day, Lil' Bit. Why, the handsome men in blue were in here so much they were practically regulars! How do y'all think I got the inspiration for entering my current profession? My Chantilly LOVES a man in uniform, so I was happy to oblige her."  
  
"What were you before you became a security guard?" Justin asked.  
  
"I used to tease hair in a salon for stuck-up Society matrons out in Buckhead," Bubba sniffed. "That's how I met Miss Chantilly. She had a wig emergency and called the shop for help. They blew her off, but I gallantly came to her rescue. I fixed the wig -- and I fixed what was ailing Chantilly at the same time!" Bubba smirked as he nudged Brian. "You know what I'm saying, brother?"  
  
"I think so," Brian replied, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Now I do the wigs for all the lovely ladies in this town," Bubba bragged. "I quit that salon and told the bitchy queen who owned it to shove his curling iron up his tight ass! Got a part-time job at the Peachtree Center for some extra cash and I haven't looked back since. Chantilly and I go to drag clubs and pageants all over the South. We've even been to Dallas and St. Louis. Miss Chantilly always does well in the pageants because not only is she the prettiest thing you ever saw, but she can really sing -- no lip-synching for my baby. That's why she's Miss Gay Atlanta!"  
  
"She does sound good," Justin agreed. And it was true -- Chantilly had a low, but distinctly feminine cast to her voice. They listened as she sang 'Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?' while the other queens paraded in the finale of 'Georgia Peaches of 1979.'  
  
"Hell yeah, she does!" Bubba said proudly. "Hush now -- it's the big finish!"  
  
Miss Chantilly segued into an encore of 'A Pretty Girl Is Like a Melody' and nailed the final note with authority as the Peaches lined up and struck one last pose. Then they all took their final bows and the green velvet curtain closed to a thunder of applause. But once the show was over the disco music was turned up and the small dance floor immediately filled with surging bodies.  
  
"I think I'm about to get a headache," Brian sighed as the falsetto voices of the Bee Gees rose to ear-splitting levels. "I can't get used to this music. Give me the Doors or the Temptations any day. I don't mind loud rock 'n' roll, but this thumpa-thumpa makes me queasy."  
  
"But it's great to dance to," Justin hinted.  
  
"I can't dance to this shit!" Brian huffed. "Wait until they put on some real music and then we'll see."  
  
"You should come here on Monday nights," Bubba grinned. "We have square dancing!"  
  
Brian narrowed his eyes. "Are you putting me on?"  
  
"Nope," Bubba vowed. "This is Georgia, brother! Everybody in these parts knows how to do country dances -- even a bunch of fairies!"  
  
"Especially a bunch of fairies!" chimed in Rowley, who suddenly appeared and slipped his arm around Bubba's waist.  
  
Justin was surprised to see that Rowley has changed into jeans and a plain tee shirt, his face scrubbed clean of any trace of make-up and his platinum hair swept back from his forehead. He didn't exactly look butch, but he no longer looked anything like Miss Gay Atlanta 1979.  
  
"Did you enjoy the show, Sugar?" Rowley asked Justin.  
  
"It was great!" Justin said sincerely. "I've never seen anything like it!"  
  
Rowley giggled. "Not even up in Yankee Land?"  
  
"They have drag shows in Pittsburgh, but nothing like this!" Justin said. Then he shrugged. "Not that I've ever been to a drag show in the Pitts, but from what I've heard."  
  
"We don't spend a lot of time in bars," Brian explained. "I'm not crazy about that whole scene. The bars and clubs in Pittsburgh are nothing but meat markets."  
  
"Welcome to Queer World!" Rowley replied. "That's what the bars are about, Honey -- hooking up! Unless you already have what you're looking for." He gazed at Bubba fondly.  
  
"Our friend here was complaining about the music," Bubba commented.  
  
"Don't you like disco, Baby?" Rowley made a face at Brian. "You don't care to shake your fine booty on our dance floor?"  
  
Brian winced slightly at the queen calling him 'Baby.' "Not really."  
  
"I'm partial to the old tunes myself," Rowley said firmly. "The romantic songs. Cole Porter. The Gershwins. Johnny Mercer. The classics!"  
  
"I was thinking more in the line of Smokey Robinson and Marvin Gaye -- or the Rolling Stones!" Brian replied. "But not this stuff. I mean -- 'Y.M.C.A.'? Or 'In the Navy'? What kind of songs are those?"  
  
"They're fun, Brian," Justin interjected. "Dumb, but fun. I don't think you're supposed to take the Village People too seriously!"  
  
"Obviously," Brian mumbled.  
  
Justin squeezed Brian's arm. He knew that Brian was self-conscious about dancing. With his long limbs and big feet, Brian felt big and awkward, especially next to the lithe and supple Justin. "We can dance another time."  
  
"Where?" Brian asked bluntly. "Not in this fucking world!"  
  
"Now, Honey!" said Rowley. "You hold your horses and I'll see what I can do."  
  
Rowley gave Bubba a quick kiss and then disappeared into the crowd.  
  
"Sorry," Brian apologized as he rubbed his forehead. "I'm tired. It's been a long day and we have a long drive down to the coast tomorrow."  
  
"No need to explain, brother," said Bubba. "We're all in the same boat. It's a hard world for fairies, no matter where you go. Enough to give any man a headache!"  
  
The disco music faded and Rowley's husky voice came over the sound system. "Now a little change of pace. For all you gentlemen who want to get closer to the one you love -- I give you Mr. Marvin Gaye!"  
  
"Come on, Brian!" said Justin, pulling him out on the dance floor. "This is for us!"  
  
"I've been really tryin , baby,  
Tryin' to hold back these feelings for so long,  
And if you feel, like I feel, baby,  
Come on, oh come on --  
  
Let's get it on.  
Let's get it on.  
Let's get it on.  
Let's get it on.  
  
We're all sensitive people,  
With so much love to give,  
Understand me, sugar, since we got to be,  
Let's say, I love you --  
  
There's nothin wrong with me  
Lovin' you,  
And givin' yourself to me can never be wrong  
If the love is true --  
  
Don't you know how sweet and wonderful life can be?  
I'm askin' you, baby, to get it on with me.  
I ain't gonna worry, I ain't gonna push,  
So come on, come on, come on, come on, baby,  
Stop beatin' round the bush....  
  
Let's get it on.  
Let's get it on.  
Let's get it on.  
Let's get it on!"  
  
"Isn't this better?" Justin whispered as he leaned against Brian. "Doesn't it remind you of those times we danced to the radio in the dark? With just the lights of the tier coming in?"  
  
"No," said Brian. "This only reminds me of now. Because that's all I'm going to think about from now on -- the present. Not the past. Not the future. Just where we are at this moment."  
  
"Then let's make this moment beautiful," said Justin.  
  
Brian smiled softly as he glanced around the tiny dance floor at all the men with their arms around each other and their eyes closed. All living for that moment. Not wanting to let it go.  
  
He held Justin even tighter. Possessively.  
  
"It already is," said Brian.  
  



	25. Chapter 25

  
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, July 1979  
  
"You're late," Ron snapped. He was nervous and irritable, and sitting for 30 minutes at a table in the middle of the busy Papagano dining room while the prissy waiter hovered over him, urging him to order, wasn't his favorite thing in the world.  
  
"Sorry," said Max as he seated himself across from his father. He sounded a little contrite -- but not much.  
  
"Where's your sister?" Ron looked over at the door, expecting to see Hannah appear.  
  
"Not coming," Max said shortly.  
  
Ron blinked. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean exactly what I said -- that she's not coming to lunch." Max picked up his menu. He had hoped to make this meal painless, but now that Hannah had bailed on him, that was going to be impossible.  
  
"Doesn't she know this is important?" Ron demanded. "I canceled a meeting with major contributor in order to have lunch with you two and then she doesn't show up! What the hell is that all about?"  
  
It wasn't strictly true that Ron had canceled a meeting, but he had rearranged his schedule at the Prisoners' Legal Defense to fit in this lunch and, to Ron's mind, that was practically the same thing.  
  
"I guess you'll have to take it up with her, Dad," said Max. He motioned to the waiter. "Can I get a drink over here?"  
  
"Certainly, sir," said the waiter, his pencil poised over his pad. "What may I get for you?"  
  
"Scotch and soda. On the rocks," said Max, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "Make it a double."  
  
"And you, sir?" the waiter turned to Ron.  
  
"A glass of your house white," he said, never taking his eyes off his son. Max generally took after Jane's side of the family, but he had Ron's piercing blue eyes. Looking at them was like looking into a mirror.  
  
"Very good, gentlemen," said the waiter. "I'll be back to take your orders in a few minutes."  
  
"Since when do you drink scotch?" Ron asked when the waiter had left the table.  
  
"I'm 25 years old, Dad, in case you've forgotten," Max reminded him. "I'm allowed to drink now, just like a big boy."  
  
"I haven't forgotten," Ron returned. "Double scotch, huh? You think you're a tough guy? You don't know the meaning of the word!"  
  
"No, I don't think I'm a tough guy," said Max defiantly. But he was beginning to waver. It was hard to keep up a strong front against his father. Damn that Hannah! If she had only shown up then they could stand together. But she'd wimped out. The bitch! "But I had a hard morning and I want a drink, okay?"  
  
Ron backed off. He and Max rarely had any time alone together and he didn't want to ruin this chance for them to talk. His son had only been a boy when Ron was sent to prison and by the time he got out Max had already finished with college and was working on his MBA at Wharton in Philadelphia.  
  
Ron gazed at Max and knew they were virtually strangers. That got to Ron. Max was much closer to his Uncle Hy -- Jane's older brother -- than he was to his own father. In fact, he'd followed in his uncle's footsteps at Wharton and was now working in Hy's accounting firm.  
  
"Your uncle isn't riding you too hard, is he?" Hy could be a bastard. Ron knew that from personal experience.  
  
Max shrugged. The waiter brought their drinks and Max took a much-needed sip of his scotch and soda. "Sometimes. He wants me to learn the business from the bottom up, and that means everyone dumps the shit work on me. But he's fair. He's taken good care of me over the years."  
  
Ron winced. Max's unspoken words were that Ron should have been there during those years, taking care of his son. And all of his family. But instead he was in the Quad.  
  
"I'm sorry, Max," Ron said softly. "I wish things had been different."  
  
"But they weren't different, were they?" Max said more forcefully than he'd intended. He took a deep breath and tried to change the subject. "But that's all in the past. I've got my future all mapped out and so does Hannah. She's leaving for Georgetown in a couple of weeks. She's already rented an apartment."  
  
Ron nodded. "She'll do well in law school. She's got a mind like a man."  
  
Max laughed. "She'd jump on you for that male chauvinist pig remark, Dad! Hannah's a real hardcore feminist these days."  
  
The waiter came and took their lunch orders -- a steak for Ron and the fettucini for Max.  
  
"So, what's this all about?" Max asked. He knew that his father had something to tell him. The last time he'd taken him and his sister to lunch was when he'd told them that he was getting remarried. To that blonde bimbo whose son he'd gotten out of prison. The one who'd broken up his parents' marriage.  
  
"I..." Ron hesitated. He wasn't certain how to say this. But he had to. Best to plunge right in. "Jennifer is pregnant. If all goes well, you and Hannah are going to have a little brother or sister in January."  
  
Max stared at his father. "Shit!"  
  
"Yes," Ron agreed. "That was my reaction, too. But what's done is done. Jen is very happy about it."  
  
"But... but what about me and Hannah?" Max gulped. Yeah, what about our inheritance? he thought.  
  
"What about you and Hannah?" Ron took a sip of his wine. Then another. Maybe he should have gotten a double scotch, too. "If you're worried about the trust fund from your grandparents this won't affect that at all. You and your sister will still get your allowances quarterly. Although you should be making good money at Hy's firm very soon -- if you work hard and keep your nose clean. The same with Hannah. I have no doubt that you'll both be successful -- you're my children after all."  
  
"I can't believe you'd have a kid with that... that fucking shiksa!" Max bleated. His eyes looked blue and icy as he glared at his father.  
  
"That's enough!" Ron ordered. "She's my wife and this baby will be your brother or sister. I expect you treat them both with respect at all times! Do you hear me, Max?"  
  
"I hear you," Max said sullenly. He bolted down the rest of scotch and soda. Courage in a glass. "Mom was right. You really WILL fuck anything!"  
  
"What the hell does THAT mean?" Ron's face flushed red with fury.  
  
"You think I don't know that you were fucking that skinny faggot in prison? That Brian Kinney!" Max said heatedly. "Now he's out and you're probably still fucking him! Does your new wife know about THAT, Dad? What does she think about it?"  
  
"Shut the fuck up!" said Ron, dangerously. "You don't know anything about Brian! And you can't even conceive of what he and I went through in Stanton. So keep your trap shut about something you can never understand!"  
  
"Oh, I understand," Max exclaimed. "You can have your cake and eat it, too. You get to call the shots and have whatever you want, whenever you want! Because you're Ron Rosenblum and you know all the angles! Well, I think you're a fucking closet case, Dad! You and that Brian are all that matters to you! And knocking up some blonde slut isn't going to 'prove' that you're a real man! No fucking way!"  
  
Their waiter rushed over to the table. "Please, gentlemen! Could you keep your voices down?"  
  
"I'll do better than that," said Ron, standing up. He turned to the waiter, whose eyes were wide. "I'm leaving. My son here will cover the check for lunch."  
  
Max flinched. He tried to remember how much cash he had in his wallet. Papagano's was the most expensive restaurant in town, even at lunch. He'd hate to have to call Uncle Hy to send some money to pay for this fiasco.  
  
"I'll see you, Max," said Ron. "Maybe when you grow up and learn a few things about life. Then we'll see. It'll be my treat."  
  
"Fuck you, Dad," Max said under his breath.  
  
"And fuck you, too, son," said Ron. "Give you sister and your mother my love."  
  



	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And… The boys are back and on the road.

Chapter 26

Georgia, July 1979

 

“I’m starving,” said Justin. “And it’s getting dark.” It was also starting to rain.

“I know, but I was hoping that we could get into Florida before we stopped for the night.” 

Brian had been uneasy since they left Atlanta. They’d stopped for gas south of Macon and Brian had gotten a bad vibe there. They were in the Deep South now and strangers, especially Northerners who seemed a little off, did not benefit from Southern hospitality. They were far from Atlanta and Brian remembered all too well some of the stories Emmett had told him about how faggots were received in the rural South.

“Then could we at least get something to eat? Anything?” Justin asked.

“Okay. We’ll look for something.” 

Brian turned off the highway, following the ubiquitous sign for “Gas – Food – Lodging.” But the town it led them hardly earned the name. It was more like a crossroads, with a small store, a gas station, and a ramshackle motel. Brian pulled up to the pump. An old man meandered out into the rain and leaned into the window.

“Fill it?”

“Put in $2 of regular. Is there a place to eat nearby?”

The old man narrowed his eyes at the two strangers. Something about the way he looked at them made Justin sink down in the seat and pull his sweatshirt up around his face. 

“Café at the motel is closed. You can get breakfast there in the morning. Folks don’t eat so late around here.”

“We’re on our way to Florida,” Brian said.

“You still got a ways to go. I got some food inside. It ain’t much, but I eat it.”

Brian followed the man into the station and came out with a paper sack. The old man pumped the gas. The rain was coming down harder.

Brian handed the bag to Justin. “Not much. A couple of bags of chips, a package of cookies, two cans of Coke. It’ll have to last us until morning.”

“Are we going to stay here for the night?”

Brian stared at the rain pummeling the windshield. “We might as well. The weather stinks and I’m tired.” He looked over at the motel. “Not too promising, but I’ve slept worse places.”

“It’s fine, Brian. As long as we’re together.”

Brian left Justin in the car while he went into the motel office and rang the bell. Another old man shambled out. Apparently in this town all the young people had gotten their asses somewhere closer to civilization. He signed the register – it didn’t look like there were any other guests, which wasn’t a surprise – and handed over $8. The old man gave him a key. “Number 6.”

“Thanks. The man at the gas station said there’s a café. What time is breakfast?”

“Whenever anybody shows up.”

Brian started to laugh until he realized the guy wasn’t joking. Maybe they’d skip breakfast. 

The room was, as expected, not worth the $8. But there was a bed, a bathroom with a drippy faucet, a television set with broken rabbit ears, and a rusty fan in the place of air conditioning. Brian turned on the fan. It lurched and turned slowly, kicking up a breeze that couldn’t be felt more than a foot away.

“I take back what I said before. Any place in the Quad was better than this.”

“We’ll laugh about it… eventually,” said Justin. “I think I’ll take a shower and try and cool off.”

“I’d think twice about taking a shower in there. You don’t know what the fuck might crawl out of that drain.”

There was a rumble of thunder. Shit, thought Brian. Let’s hope this place doesn’t leak.

Brian tried the television, turning the antennas back and forth, but all he got was snow and static. “The entertainment system is out,” he called out to Justin. Then he heard the shower go on. Maybe it would be nice to cool off a little. Then he checked the bed. The sheets looked relatively clean, but he stripped off the bedspread – there was no telling what might be on it. The last he wanted was to get bitten by… something.

He opened the window, hoping that the rain might cool things off, but the humidity was stifling. 

Brian opened a bag of chips and popped the top of the Coke can. Nice dinner, but it was better than nothing. And in this heat it was probably just as well that they didn’t eat any cooked food in this place. He’d already decided that they’d skip breakfast.

That’s when there was a knock on the door. “Hey! You! Open up!”

A shudder went through Brian. He knew immediately that stopping here had been a grave mistake.  
He went to the door. Luckily, he’d chained it. “Who is it?”

“Open up!”

“I’m not opening this door until I know who you are. I’m not a total idiot!”

“You B. Kenny?” said the voice. Then he heard the old man who had checked him in, mumbling something.

“Who wants to know?”

“It’s the sheriff. Open this door!”

“Why? What’s the problem?”

Then the old man spoke. “Open up, Mr. Kenny. We need to check your ID.”

It’s a fucking scam, thought Brian. But there was nothing else to do but open the door.

Brian almost laughed when he saw the sheriff. Instead of the typical big, beer-bellyed redneck, the sheriff looked more like Barney Fife – short and scrawny, like an overgrown chicken. He and the motel owner were both drenched as the rain was still coming down hard. But Brian noted that the sheriff was armed. Not that he would take out his pistol and use it, but it was there like a silent threat.

“I already showed you my driver’s license. What more ID do you need?” Brian asked.

The two men glanced around the room. “Where is she?”

She? What the hell? “What are you talking about?”

“Henry at the gas station,” said the sheriff. “He saw that girl in your car. The blonde. How old is she? Underage?”

“Henry must be senile,” said Brian. “Because there’s no girl.”

They looked toward the bathroom. The sound of the water in the shower stopped. The sheriff strode to the door and pounded on it. “Come on out here, honey! We need to see your ID!”

Brian began to feel the panic rising. “Don’t come out! You guys have no right to come in here and question me… or my… friend!”

“I got the right to do whatever I need to do, mister,” the sheriff huffed. “You come out of there, honey! Or your boyfriend is gonna end up in the slammer!”

There was a long pause and then the door opened. Justin stepped out, wearing only his shorts and holding a towel, his long blond hair dripping down into his eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“Jesus H. Christ!” cried the sheriff. “It’s a goddamn boy!” He turned furiously on Brian. “A little faggot! You brung a faggot in here!”

“We are traveling to Florida,” said Brian, trying desperately to remain calm. “We aren’t bothering anyone. If you want to see Justin’s ID, you can see it.”

“I don’t want to see his goddamn ID!” the sheriff fumed. “Jesus H. Christ!”

Brian swallowed. Counter-attack, but use your head, Kinney. Nothing rash. 

“If you want to arrest two tourists for staying in this motel room, which I pre-paid for in cash, then do it. But I’ll call my lawyer and make a stink they’ll hear all the way to Atlanta!”

The motel owner tugged at the sheriff’s arm. “Let’s get out of here, Jeff. I don’t want this kind of trouble.”

“Faggots are against the law in this part of the country!” the sheriff insisted. 

“How do you know I’m a faggot?” said Justin. “Just by looking at me?”

“Justin, shut up,” Brian urged. “Please!”

But Justin was defiant. “No! This is bullshit! We didn’t do anything!”

“Listen,” said Brian, putting himself between Justin and the sheriff. “We’ll leave immediately. We didn’t do anything and you have no proof that we did. But if you arrest us…”

“Brian is a famous writer! This will be in all the newspapers and you’ll look like jerks!” said Justin.

“Justin, I said for you to shut up! Now!” Brian thundered.

But the sheriff backed away in confusion. He looked at the motel owner, who shook his head. 

“All right then,” said the sheriff. “Pack up and get your faggot asses out of this county! Out of this state! And don’t you never come back here!”

“Don’t worry,” said Brian. “We’re already gone.”


End file.
